


The Man Who Claimed To Be Yours

by JokeringCutio (Breakingthestandards)



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bruises, Delusions, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Reader, First Time, Forced Relationship, Imagined relationship, Internal Swearing, Murder, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pregnancy, Pseudobulbar affect, Reader is a babysitter, Reader works for Sophie, Stalking, Unsafe Sex, excuse for lots of smut, virgin!reader (but only in chapter one hah)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 77,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/JokeringCutio
Summary: You are Sophie's hired babysitter, taking care of Gigi the best you can, when suddenly one day, Sophie's neighbour is standing in the apartment.How will you cope now that Arthur Fleck has set his eyes on you and believes you are his, in each and every way?
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Comments: 186
Kudos: 689





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, psst, if you are reading this on an app... WHY are you even? Did you know AO3 allows you to download this story in different formats for you to read? And it works on your phone flawllessly without an app as well. Also, the app you're using isn't an official one. It is one that is ripping stories without the author's consent. So I really do hope you're not paying to use this. If you feel like spending money, please consider donating something to my Ko-fi here: ko-fi.com/jokeringcutio instead of spending it on apps that are not associated with AO3 or the authors on it. Thank you! :)

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Covery Photo

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Based on this gif:

**Request**: _Ok, now I need a fic where Arthur demands that Reader rides him, his strong hands guiding her on top. _This might also work well with Reader being Sophie’s friend or perhaps Sophie daughter’s babysitter. Just saying 😏

AN: Prepare for some copious amounts of smut. Read all the tags. Arthur's going dark in this one, and you have little power to go against him. You've been warned!

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**Chapter 1**

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“Excuse me?” You frowned at the odd man who suddenly stood in Sophie’s apartment. His brown hair was dishevelled, his worn yellowish-brown coat unbuttoned and askew. He entered in a haste but came to a halt next to the kitchen chair, only several feet away from you, where he seemed to hesitate. Big light-coloured puppy-eyes lay upon you. It was a gaze that would have moved you any other day.

Here you were, doing the only job that you had managed to land in after finishing high-school and not being able to afford any further studying. You were young, ambitious, playful, but responsible. You crossed your arms in front of your blouse while you took a step away from the stranger. Your skirt rustled with the movement. You were looking your best, like the sophisticated nanny you tried to promote yourself to be. Confident, in full control. Except right now, you weren’t. Because there was a strange man in Sophie’s kitchen. And it freaked you out more than you tried to let on.

You saw the veins on his hands as he ran one of them through his hair, then rested both at the sides of his lanky frame. They seemed strong, his fingers long and thin. _Perhaps a bit too thin_. Much like his cheeks which seemed hollow. You knew you were openly studying him. And as you did so, you saw his expression change from pleading into a thoughtful frown.

Working as a babysitter for Sophie Dumont for several months now, you thought you knew a lot about your employer. For instance, you were absolutely certain that she had no boyfriend or any partner she was seeing for that matter. Which meant the man who had just entered her apartment was an intruder. You thought you had seen him before, though. Something about him seemed familiar. Wasn’t he the neighbour from the same floor?

You hesitated, your hands hovering above the railing of the chair in front of you. Two chairs and a table separated you from the stranger. You bit your lip, searching for a way to approach this odd situation. Gigi was playing in her room with a friend. Sophie was still at work. It was the usual schedule for a Thursday.

The man’s eyes darkened. Something in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. It was an unfamiliar look to you, but a look that had alarm bells ringing inside of your brain. This man, you thought, had something unpredictable about him. And not just because he had come barging into the wrong apartment.

_You should not have let Gigi lock the door._ Obviously, she hadn’t done a proper job, and you’d been too busy putting the groceries in the kitchen to notice. And now it was too late. _That’s Gotham for you_. You stood face to face with a stranger. _Was he going to rob you? Was there a gun hidden beneath his coat?_

The silence between you prolonged. He had not replied to your words yet, had not explained his presence or even given you a verbal sign of acknowledgement. It felt like it was up to you to start the conversation and ease some of the tension you felt building in the room. But you had to be careful. You did not want to anger the man in case he was armed.

His eyes were still upon you, heavy and clouded with raw hunger.

“Can I help you?” The look in his eyes frightened you. You could have asked him his name, whether he was lost, _anything else._ Yet this was all your brain could come up with.

“I haven’t had my day,” the reply catches you off guard and you relax a little. His voice is unexpectedly softer than you had imagined it to be. Not the voice you would associate with a robber. But then he started rambling.

“I know you worry about me, my job, my condition.” You frowned, but he continued without a pause. “All I thought of was you and it worked. Just like you told me. It worked. It-it made my mind clearer, made the pain better to bear. And I just, I couldn’t wait till I got home again.”

With eyes wide, you looked at the man as he gripped the chair in front of him, knuckles turning white. His jaw locked in a grin as his eyes flitted from the floor to the chair, then up to you. He seemed shy, yet he spoke to you not as a stranger, but as if he had known you for ages.

“I-I don’t care if I just lost my job, lost my mom.” He paused, his gaze at either the floor or the chair in front of him. You couldn’t quite see with the way he was now leaning on it, his hair obscuring his face. But then he looked up again at you. The muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes were serious, his brows still furrowed. “Well, aren’t you happy I am home?”

_Hold the fuck up._

You stumbled backwards, nearer towards the kitchen window, increasing the space between you and him. “This, this isn’t your home,” you managed to stutter.

At hearing your words, something about the man’s expression darkened and you were afraid he was going to jump towards you, yell at you, maybe even _hurt _you. But then his eyes drifted around the apartment and you saw it click inside his head. _Ah, he must have noticed._ But instead of apologising and leaving as you suspected he would do, he hung his head again and you saw him heave a deep sigh. Then, when he looked up again, there was a small smile curling the corners of his lips.

“No, no of course this isn’t home,” he said, then straightened up and swiped his hands smoothly past his trousers, as if he was smoothing the crinkles out of the fabric.

For a moment you watched him. This man looked so small, so frail, despite him physically being taller and older than you. You nearly had forgotten the feeling of danger that had curled deep within your belly. But then he raised his hand, unexpectedly, and held it up for you to take. Your heart started racing. _What was this supposed to mean?_

“Well,” he said after a moment of you staring at his offered hand. You could see how his small smile turned into a pained frown. As if you had just disappointed him. _What was going on?_

“Aren’t you going to come?” He asked. When you took a beat to respond, he turned around swiftly on his heels and made his way to the door. Was this guy high? Or just confused? Was he old enough to suffer from dementia yet? _Did he just mistake you for his wife?_

You took a relieved breath when you saw him make his way back into the hall, not knowing you had apparently held your breath at all. But then he paused in the doorway, and in a rush of panic you wondered if he was expecting you to come along as he had requested.

“You’re Sophie’s neighbour, aren’t you?” You heard yourself ask. You hoped that by talking to him he would calm down and leave the apartment. Carefully, you took a few steps forward, around the kitchen chairs, and towards the odd man who now stood in the hallway of Sophie’s apartment. Behind you, you could hear the laughter of two children as Gigi and her friend played in her room. The man must have heard it too, for he had turned around to look at you, but his eyes now swept to over your shoulder, towards Gigi’s room. And the change in his look _again_. This time it was a look of sadness. Of longing. You wondered more and more why Sophie had never told you about him.

You frowned and somehow that tiny movement had caught his attention, for his eyes drifted back to you.

“I-I’m sorry.” His voice wasn’t particularly low, it was a bit nasal to be honest really. Like a shy boy who apologised to his mom. “I-I should just go. This-this was a mistake.”

He made to leave – the very thing you wanted. But curiosity got the better of you and you called after him.

“What’s your name?”

He halted in his movement, already standing with his key out of his pocket and ready to open the door to the other apartment on the same floor. He slowly turned to face you again, confusion written all over.

“I’m- I’m Arthur. Arthur Fleck.” So you knew his name now. _Well._ You forced a small smile and swallowed, preparing to give him yours when he surprised you by saying your own name before you had the chance. You froze in your movements.

“How do you know?”

Arthur turned slowly, a small smile on his lips. His eyes were averted, cast at the floor, as he hesitated. Then, he stepped away from his door and came towards you again.

_Shit,_ this wasn’t meant to happen. He was supposed to leave! But how on earth did he know your name? Had Sophie and him been talking about you? But if she had, why had she never mentioned him to you?

He was back in front of you again, standing in the doorway to Sophie’s apartment, stepping up way too close. His eyes were upon your lips for a beat too long, making you part them in a gasp. Then his gaze slid up to meet yours. Vibrant green eyes met yours, a deep hungry penetrating stare captured your own.

“I saw you before,” Arthur started, his words a whisper near your skin. “When you went into the lift together with Sophie and Gigi the other day.” His stammering had become less but his words _frightened_ you. “I heard her say your name.”

And you remember. It was when you’d seen Arthur for the very _first_, and the only as far as you could recall, _only time_. He was checking the mailbox, just another unfamiliar frame in the background of a city filled with so many strangers. You couldn’t remember if you’d seen him looking up at you as you stood in the elevator, laughing with Gigi. You certainly hadn’t seen him smile once the elevator doors closed. That ‘other day’ had been a few weeks ago, a time period long enough to make you forget anyone’s name, even if they had been properly introduced to you and you should have recalled. Suddenly your silent claim of him suffering from dementia seemed to be swiped under a rug. _He had remembered your name from a brief mentioning several weeks ago._ Now that was creepy.

A shiver ran down your spine as you looked up at him.  
  
“I-,” Arthur was standing uncomfortably close now, but as you tried to step away to increase the distance between you two, he raised an arm and trapped you between his body and the wall. The laughter of Gigi and her friend rung in the background, as an anchor to reality. Arthur’s breath was upon your cheek. Cigarette scent invaded your lungs. He was a smoker, you concluded. You could smell cheap cologne and the bitter scent of something else underneath, something that could only be described as _entirely him_. You flinched.

His knee was up between your legs, pressing against _there_. “I have a condition.” As he said it, whispered it in your ear, you could hear the first hiccups of laughter in his voice. “I think I told you.”

You gasped, remembering no such conversation between the two of you. In fact, you remembered no conversation ever at all. “N-No,” was all you could manage before you heard a deep guttural growl near your ear. Arthur was gritting his teeth, his body writhing against you, keeping you trapped.

“I am pretty sure I have,” he insisted, trapping your hands in his free one. You had tried to push him away, but his reflexes were surprisingly fast and his strength greater than you had estimated.

“Did I imagine all that happened between us?” _Oh-_ his voice came out like a sulk, a heart-breaking pitiful sound that, if you hadn’t just met him in this way, would have you feel for pity for him. But the way he was leaning against you, hips pressed against your belly, hot breath on your skin, the feeling of fright weighed too much to be outnumbered by the feeling of pity. His words had sounded choked, and now you noticed that the suppressed laughing noises that had threatened to spill forth became worse. “Did I _imagine _that you _love_ me?”

And then he was cackling next to your ear. But there was no way to escape. You could not get out. He had you trapped.

_Love?_

His body was hot against yours, flushed, pressing you against the hard plastered wall behind you. You turned your head to the side in an attempt to avoid his laughter from hitting your ear full-on. It sounded pained, cramped. You could feel his body pulse and convulse against you, could feel the bones of his chest through his coat and through your blouse as they throbbed and thrashed against you. It sounded as if he choked.

_Good God, was he choking?_  
  
“No, no,” he seemed to regain some composure. The snorts and chuckles were still present though. He shortly increased the pressure on your wrists, which he still held in his left hand. Then he let go. _Thank God._ But his next few words sent shards of ice through your veins.

“I did not imagine it. I _could not_ have. You are real. You are REAL.” His eyes were wide and wild, his last few words shouted. You could hear Gigi’s voice pipe up behind you, calling your name, probably worried about the shouting she had heard. You wanted to call out her name but bit your tongue and watched Arthur as he moved in front of you.

At least he had pushed himself back and his chest wasn’t pressed against you any longer. You felt you could breathe again, if just a little, as you watched him cautiously while he reached for his chest with his right hand. He clutched the front of his yellow-brown coat in his fist, as if the material was suffocating him. His lips were parted in a gasp for air.

This man was crazy. You were certain of it now. Whatever was wrong, it was bad. And he was delusional, probably mistaking you for his wife or girlfriend, or any past lover he might have had. Who knows?

Suddenly you noticed his feet were on the other side of the threshold. He was in the hallway. This was your chance to shut the door and lock it. Your eyes went to the doorknob, but Arthur must have seen your gaze and calculated your move because before you could step away and close the door to put a barrier between the two of you, he had grabbed your hand.

_Shit,_ you’d been too slow, you had acted too late. You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but his fingers slid down to your wrist and curled even tighter. A gasp escaped you at the feel of his fingers digging into your skin, knowing it would bruise.

How could this frail looking man be this fast? You felt him tug on your arm and when you locked eyes with him, you saw a dark sparkle in them. This man was unpredictable. That same warning flashed in your mind that he was dangerous. More dangerous than you had cared to admit at a first glance.

Behind you, you heard Gigi calling your name again. _Shit,_ whatever happened you had to make sure that Arthur did not hurt her. She was your priority in this home, you needed the job, you needed the funds, you liked Gigi and Sophie, you could not bear the thought of upsetting them or bringing them into this danger in front of you.

Arthur seemed to have heard Gigi’s voice too for he looked up and that dark flicker across his face seemed to diminish for a moment. He called out for her, telling her that he needed to ‘borrow’ you for a short moment and if she and her friend could be good girls while you were away.

_Damn!_ Not enough words existed in your vocabulary to describe the many curses that circulated in your head at this unwanted reply. Not only did he speak for you, but he had sounded so kind when he had done so. Like Gigi’s welfare actually mattered to him? Like he needed to put her mind at ease as to why you were going to be away for a moment. Like he _fucking cared._

Knowing you had already lost to this man’s strength and will, you struggled against his grip as you tried to reach for the key to Sophie’s apartment. The key that lay upon the side table in Sophie’s hallway. “Arthur,” you gasped. “I need the key. Arthur, Please.” You turned your head to look at him, tried to make him understand. You brought your voice back to a pleading whisper. “Let me at least close the door so the girls will be safely inside.” Your eyes darted to the key, then back to him again, and to your surprise you could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes. A small smile twitched the corners of his lips and you felt how the pressure on your wrist diminished somewhat. There was that look of understanding again, as if he understood, as if he cared. He allowed you enough movement to reach the small table.

“I-I’ll be back in a moment, Gigi.” You managed to call out to reassure her as you grabbed the key. You thought you heard Gigi shout back an acknowledgement but you couldn’t tell for sure because of the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

You were scared. God, you were scared of him. This Arthur Fleck was the most unpredictable man you had ever met in all your nineteen years spent in Gotham.

Arthur’s grip on your wrist was firm as he pulled you out of Sophie’s hallway. You clutched your key firmly against your chest. Arthur gently closed the door behind you and had the _audacity_ to look up at you with those puppy eyes and whisper “the kids are safe” - before he guided you into the joined hallway and towards his apartment. _The kids were safe? And what about you, huh? _Because you had the odd twisting feeling that you weren’t going to be safe anywhere near him. You tried to struggle but _darn,_ for a man his size and shape he was incredibly strong.

Opening his apartment door was a bit of a struggle, but you were amazed by how handy he was with just one hand. While he kept your wrists trapped in his left hand, his right hand fumbled with the key until the door was open and he pushed you in. You truly felt trapped now. Who could come to your rescue? Sophie was hours away from returning home, and there was no phone you could easily access to call the police. You couldn’t yell for help. Gigi and her friend were too young to help you out of danger, it was a risk you weren’t willing to take. The only thing you could think of now was but to play along. Play along and hope, just hope, that he would let you leave unscathed._ Please, prove me wrong and be a demented guy. _

Upon entering the apartment, the first thing that hit you was the smell. A musty odour intertwined with the heavy fog of old cigarette smoke. The scent burned your throat.  
  
The apartment mirrored the one you were used to work in. But the interior was more antique, and not at all what you would expect from a man like him. The wallpaper was a faded pink with purple lines. You could look into one of the adjacent rooms, a bedroom by the sight of it, with flower wallpaper in a similar tint. Was this the touch of Arthur’s wife? Did he have one? Where was she?

“Lay them there,” he commanded, gesturing at the keys in your hand and a wooden cabinet at the side of the living room, indicating the spot where you could lay down your keys. You hesitated, afraid he would take them from you if you didn’t obey his command, and with little options left you put them there.

_I think you are confused, mister Fleck,_ you wanted to tell him, but you bit your tongue when you heard the click of the apartment door behind you. Had he _locked_ it? You felt the cold needle of fear prick down your spine. Little trails of goosebumps formed on your skin. You raised your head and started to turn around to face him but before you could, his arms were wrapped around you and his scent was invading your senses. He held you in a warm embrace. His lips were hot on your neck as you tilted your head to increase the distance. Instead, it just allowed him more access to the bare sensitive skin of your neck.

“How I’ve _missed_ you…” His lips brushed past your skin, the words coming out mumbled. But they were filled with yearning, with _pain_. You could feel his emotions as he trembled around you like a leaf, his arms tightly pressed against your bosom, his chest pressed against your back, his lips brushing past the pulse in your neck before he placed a butterfly-light kiss on there.

A hot feeling coiled between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs together. What he was doing was…. Marvellous. But _oh_-so _wrong._

“Mister Fleck,” you murmured, once again determined to tell him he was mistaken, to snap him out of whatever fantasy his mind has made up about you. To hope that he would abandon this quest of taking what should be yours to give. Because you felt it was heading that way. If the man had come into Sophie’s apartment not to burgle her belongings, if he spoke of _love_, if he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, even taking you away from the kids’ presence and into his own territory –what other conclusion was there to make? He was going to ravish you, you were certain of it.

And the horrible thing was, there was no way you were going to be able to stop him.

His body was firm against your own and his arms were tight around your neck and shoulders. Your hands reached up and curled around his arms which were still wrapped around you. You tried to at least loosen his hold on you a little, but it was to no avail.

You could feel him bury his face in your hair. Wait. Did he just sniff it? You gasped as he muttered your name lovingly. “Call me Arthur,” his said, voice muffled by your hair. It took a moment in which you tried to relax and put your mind at ease_. He’s not going to hurt you. _You inwardly lied to yourself._ He’s just a lonely man. It’s not as bad as I think it is. It’s-_

Then you felt _it._

Thick and long, pressed against the narrow of your back. _He’s hard. _

Your eyes opened wide at the realisation. But then all of a sudden, he had let go of you. You stood frozen and watched as he made his way past you while taking off his coat_. He acted so casually,_ you thought with a pang. _As if he hadn’t practically kidnapped you. _He flung his jacket over the chair that stood nearest to the couch and you flinched. You wanted to run away but your legs felt like jelly. _And where could you run to anyway?_

The couch stood in the middle of the room. It was an old looking thing, with a striped pattern on it. _An old ladies’ couch,_ you thought. It made you wonder once again who Arthur was and how he lived here.

With a grunt, Arthur plopped down on the couch, the movement of his hips a sharp snap. Your eyes were drawn to it. You could not help it. _My God, how could this man be this excited_? With cheeks red of embarrassment, you quickly looked at his face again. He was running a hand through his hair, smoothing it backwards. But his eyes had never left you.

“Well?” The lightness of his voice surprised you. Yet it did not conceal the coarseness lying underneath. His question snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked at him to find his eyes upon you, his gaze expectantly. His voice was lower now. “Aren’t you going to comfort me the way you _always_ do?”

_The way you always do?_ You did not know what way that was. How could you please him? You carefully took a step closer, your hand curled into a fist and hovering near your chest. You needed to gather your courage and you needed to gather it quick. Tell him you can’t because Sophie is coming home soon? A lie to save yourself? A lie to make him let go of you.

“I’d love to, Arthur,” you lie as sweetly as you can, opting to play along with whatever deranged fantasy this man has of you in the hopes it will get you out of here with no harm done.

“Then why hesitate?” His words cut through the air, leaving you no time to finish the excuse you had wanted to give him.

“I-I’m not…” You started, but Arthur was already grunting in annoyance. He moved both his hands, gesturing for you to come closer. You did not intend to follow his command, but really what other choice was there? You were not a violent person, and even if you wanted to harm him, there was nothing near enough for you to get your hands on and maim him with.

He was looking at you with that expectant puppy-eyed look that had you pause in your thoughts. How could this man appear so harmless, show such deceit with his appearance and his pleading gaze which managed to make your heart wrench. At the same time your gut was twisting as a warning. Something was wrong. Something was dead wrong about this all.  
  
“Sit down on my lap, that’s all I’m asking.”

_Shit. Shit again. _

Biting your lip, you quietly approached him before you sat down on his lap. It felt awkward to be this close to a man you hardly knew, to feel his warmth underneath your thighs and to smell his scent. You were grateful for the little amount of fabric protecting you from his touch. But really, you should have gone to work wearing your jeans today.

Apparently, your action made him relax a little. Arthur let out a sigh and languidly brought a hand to your hair. “There, there, _sweetheart_. That wasn’t that hard, was it?”

His fingers curled in the strands as he started to toy with your hair. For a moment, that was all he did, hug you and caress you. Was this his way of trying to comfort you? The thought sent shivers down your spine and, as if he felt it, his arm around you tightened, pulling you closer to his chest. You could hear low humming, the low rumble coming from deep within his chest. As if the man was at ease.

Okay, _let’s cut the bullshit. _

“Look, Mister Fleck, Arthur,” you corrected yourself. You weren’t here to be cuddled and petted by a man twice your age, if not bloody more. You had to try _something_. If not violence, then perhaps you could appeal to his consciousness. He had shown signs of concern when you talked about the kids before. Perhaps you could play it at that?

“Please, Mister Fleck. I need to be back with the girls as soon as possible. I can’t leave them alone for long. They’re still young.”

Arthur took a deep breath. A low pensive rumble escaped his lips as he gave your words a thought. You had given it your best shot, eyes all doe-like and lips pouted. He looked down at your face and failed to stifle a short laugh.

“Ah, such feelings you have for others. Such maternal instincts.” He sat back on the couch but did not remove his hand from your hair. Instead, he wound his fingers in even tighter, pulling your head back and forcing you to lock eyes with him. You could see it in there; deep green pools of lust.

“It’s one of the reasons I’ve fallen in love with you.” His voice came out raw with longing and raspy with dry need. And before you had a chance to reply, he was upon you. Lips ravishing yours as he captured them in a fiery kiss.

He wasn’t all too gentle. The kiss was hard and raw, the kiss of a starving man who had been depraved of affection for much too long. It made you open your eyes in surprise, and you pushed your hands against his chest. But like before, he didn’t budge. And quite soon, the kiss was making you dizzy and you only looked at him through half-lidded eyes, waiting for a moment you could draw a new breath.

Finally you felt his fingertips leave your scalp and the way he traced his hand down your back, circling up to the front where his hand was joined by the other. They lay warm upon on your chest, burning through the thin fabric of your blouse. The thought of pushing yourself from his lap emerged, but as you tried to move your hips, they only bucked into his more, erupting a low groan from his lips as he rolled his eyes closed for a moment. You could feel his thumbs on the top of your breasts, his hands fumbling them through your blouse. You tried to tell him to stop but because of his lips against your own it came out as a mumble.

You felt his lips twitch against your own. Was he grinning?

And then his hips moved up towards you hard. You tried to look down to see the point where you two connected, but your gaze halted at a spot much higher than your intended aim because _oh-no_. Arthur had managed to unbutton the top row of your blouse, his hand sneaking in and underneath your bra, cupping your bare breast in his hand.

“I need to see more of you,” he looked at you through lust clouded and half-lidden eyes. His hands slid down your sides until they rested on your thighs, keeping you trapped there. But at least he had drawn his head backwards and allowed you to breathe again. Which you did, gratefully. You took a deep breath and bit your lip. Staring into his green eyes, you felt the ferocity he radiated, the danger of him.

And so you slowly obeyed, flicking your fingers past the last of the buttons and drawing your blouse open like a curtain. Arthur smiled up at you, approvingly, then moved his hands to the sides of your bra, massaging your breasts through the fabric. As if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I want you to take this off,” it sounded like he asked it, but you were too afraid not to do as he said. And so you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

A frown of frustration crawled upon your face when you had difficulties finding the clips.

“Never mind,” apparently, Arthur had grown restless and without a warning he chucked down your bra, exposing your breasts. You let out a small yelp at the sudden motion, and nearly tumbled over the man. You managed to catch yourself by placing a hand on either of his shoulders, your hair dangling in front of your eyes by the sudden jerking movement. But it seemed that Arthur was unperturbed.

“So young, so beautiful,” he gasped. You felt his words sent a tingle deep down to your core. Hot fire was licking between your thighs.

Arthur’s hands pressed against your breasts, drawing them closer together, then looser apart, massaging and kneading them to his own pleasure. He surprised you when suddenly he leaned forward and captured a nipple between his lips, sucking it in and hollowing his cheeks. It was _dirty _and _depraved_, but the sight and feel of it set your body on fire.

_Don’t like it_, you silently chanted to yourself. _Don’t like it. You never asked for this._ But you couldn’t help it. It felt so good.

To your embarrassment, wetness started to pool between your legs. You wanted to cry, hoping Arthur would not find out about your arousal. But of course he had to pick that moment to slip his left hand underneath your skirt. His fingers stroked your thigh, then slipped inside your panties before he started to stroke your sensitive clit. You gasped, your hands flexing against him, fingers involuntarily digging into his chest, and he let out a small laugh.

It angered you to know that Arthur was enjoying this.

Without a warning, he jerked your panties aside, allowing him more access to your cunt. You could feel his cold fingertips stroking past your pussy, his fingers wet with your own arousal. Without a warning, he pushed one digit in, knuckle deep, and you gasped and struggled on his lap. But he kept a tight grip on you and chuckled.

“You’re so tight today,” he said, sounding amused.

You wanted to shout at him that you’ve never been looser. That it is not just today but that it’s your lack of experience. But then his finger is already out of you, only to hear him fumble with his own fly. It doesn’t take him long before his member is out, hard and ready. When you make the mistake of looking down, it is to see the angry red head peaking up at you, the tip already weeping with precum. His cock is long and veined, and it frightens you. Whatever you’d been mentally prepared for, this was not it.

“Please, Mister Fleck, Arthur,” you wanted to say no, wanted to tell him that it’s been enough, but he was _laughing_. Not that awkward painful laugh of before. _No._ This time it sounded more genuine. Was he laughing at your despair?

“Yes,” he panted your name and guided his cock towards your opening, brushing your panties aside as the front had slipped back to cover your cunt. The unbidden question ‘do you want this’ tight in the air, never uttered, never asked, but still answered. “Yes,” he replied for you.

You tried to struggle again, but his grip was on your hips and it was too tight. You were certain it would bruise, leave his handprints on you like a mark, and you did not want to struggle, you really did not want to. But the sudden fear of being ravished by this man, more utterly and completely than he already had, was stronger than your need to be pliant. You tried to move your hips away, but in the end he won out as he hovered your hips above his awaiting cock.

And then he was pushing you down. You gasped, clung with your hands to his shoulders for support. It felt like his cock was much too large to fit in, and you let out a cry in fear. You felt the head press against your opening, easing in slightly but not quite fitting in just yet. Each time he pressed you down, your pussy seemed to push him out again, not even making his way in an inch before he had to lift you up again. But then suddenly, all of a sudden, the head split its way inside and you let out a soft cry.

It felt too wide, and you were probably too dry.

And this was your first time, _goddammit._

You cried out as Arthur wiggled you down on his large cock, a feeling which could be so good but right now only made you feel nauseous. Because you could feel the ridge of his cockhead stroke past the inside of your cunt, could feel the ridge flick past your tight muscles, and you could hear him groan at the feel. He liked it. He_ liked_ it.

You let out another soft cry, this time out of despair, and rested your head on his shoulder as he started a firm pace. “Feels so good,” You could hear him murmur in that somewhat childish voice of him again. “So fucking good.”

He was rocking up into you now with firm thrusts. Each thrust opening you up a bit more. But his hands – _oh_, his hands. They were on your chest, pinching and pulling your nipples. It made the act all the more vile because with each pinch and each twist you could feel your arousal flow between your legs, coating his shaft, making the access to you all the easier. As if your body was _betraying_ you.

And _oh-_ he was _big._ He filled you up completely and it actually felt good. And you hated how it made you feel. His thrusts grew restless, uncoordinated but firm. Each thrust now hitting you deep inside as he buried to the hilt.

Each thrust had him grunt, he sounded in pain and you wondered if you had somehow hurt him. And then he gritted his teeth and hissed.

His hands left your breasts to slip down your belly to your waist, then came to rest on your hips. He was guiding you now, firm thrusts that turned from pleasant into painful, as with each thrust he pounded his shaft against the entrance of your womb. Your poor cervix battered, you were forced to move along with him, riding him like you wanted to ride him, your walls milking him for his seed. You gasped and threw your head back, but that was a mistake. It only made you feel him all the deeper, the curve of your back only increasing his pleasure by the sound of his grunts which turned more into shouts of pleasure. One thrust, another, another. You felt battered and bruised and that was when he came. Alarm bells were ringing in your head as you felt the hot rush of wetness deep within your belly as he filled you up. His fingers digging into your hips as he made you ride out the last waves of his orgasm. Then he finally stilled to catch his breath.

You quickly rested your forehead against his shoulder and wrapped your arms around his neck for support. You knew this must look and feel to him like a lover’s embrace, but honestly, right now you couldn’t care. This man had thoroughly fucked you, taken away what you had wanted to cherish. And now you were tired, your body trembled. So you rested your head.

You stayed a moment like this. You can’t say how long, only that you heard the clicking of a clock which seemed to tick for hours on end. In reality, it must have been mere minutes. And then you heard the soft rumble of a laugh inside of Arthur’s chest and you pushed yourself up to look at him.

Your bodies were still joined, and pushing yourself up felt funny. You could still feel him inside, but he was softening now. It actually started to feel pleasurable again.

He carefully helped you off. A wet slopping sound was heard as his softening member slipped out of you, leaving a wet trace on your thigh. In the same fluid motion he helped you off the couch and you stood in front of him on two wobbly legs.

Arthur’s eyes were dark upon you, the hunger you’d seen in them somewhat satisfied but the underlying raw emotion behind it hadn’t faded. He seemed to appraise you, studying you in silence as he caught his breath and brought his left hand to his lips, his fingers touching them ever so gently in thought. Then, a twitch to his lips indicated a suppressed smile. His eyes darted back up to meet yours.

“Tell me again this isn’t real,” he challenged you, and you hadn’t the heart to go against him. “Tell me that _you_ are not real. Make me _laugh_.” The suppressed and muffled sounds of laughter were already threatening to spill out as he spoke.

You shyly averted your eyes, eager to pick up your panties and redress. You felt more than naked in front of him, as if everything about you was exposed, not just your breasts and thighs. “I-“ you hesitated, readjusting your panties and straightening up. Your eyes drifted back to his face, a silent threat in the way his jaw was locked. In a way, he was forcing you to admit to this reality. That this – this you could not think of a word for as your brain had gone into a meltdown- was real. That he did not allow you the leniency to withdraw inside your mind and pretend that this was all some kind of perverted nightmare. “It’s real,” you finally admonished. “It must be real,” you added as an afterthought, and with a frown you placed your hand on your abdomen. “I can still feel you in there, so it must have been real.”

Now Arthur laughed. And you waited meekly for his odd laughter to die down.

What was so funny about this anyway? Was he laughing because he had just ravished you? Was it because you’d let him? Should you have fought him off? What was he playing at? You didn’t know about his condition, about his illness, about his state of mind. You did not know anything about him. Except, perhaps, that he was totally lost.

Dressed again, you tried to bring your hair back into order when his laughter finally died down. You watched him as he gently tucked his soft member back inside of his trousers. Then, he surprised you by patting the spot next to him on the couch.

“Sit down, kitten.”

You did as he asked, what else was there to do? Though your mind was back on Gigi. How long had the kids been on their own? Were they doing okay? Arthur’s hand brushed against yours, catching your attention. You felt dirty, the slick of your arousal and his sperm felt wet between your legs and started to feel cold. As you turned to look at him you noticed how relaxed he seemed. There was no vileness in his eyes, no ominous darkness that spelled his lust for you. As if he hadn’t just ravished you. There was no malice in his features any more. The lines of pain that had crinkled his forehead, his cheeks and around his eyes were gone, making him seem more friendly and less terrifying than before. Just a man who seemed as harmless as a man could be. _Huh?_ How odd. How did that happen?

“Arthur, I-“ you hesitated. You needed to play your cards right. This man was clearly unstable of mind and perhaps even of character. You had no idea yet who or what you were faced with. But you knew that this man lived next door to the woman you worked for and you were bound to run into him again at one point. You needed to get back to Gigi, but you also needed to know what you were dealing with.

What had he said again? Earlier on in the kitchen? Ah yes.

“Your condition? Remind me again?”

He frowned, as if he didn’t like the question you had asked him. His leg started bobbing up and down, as if he was nervous. He rummaged with his hand inside his vest and pulled out a card which he handed to you. The sealed card looked worn, well-used, with the corners starting to curl. You read it in silence.

“But,” his voice was nasal and unsteady, but softer than before. “You will still love me for who I am, right?” His words were a whisper, as if he was asking for confirmation and as if he was afraid you would not give it to him.

You turned the card around and pressed your lips into a thin line, leaving him dangling for a bit more before you replied – but not too long. You would not risk that.

“Of course,” you whispered in turn, then looked up at him from the card. “What’s the medical term for this again?”

You could play along, see? You had never heard of a condition like this before. Did it even exist? But you also had never spoken to this man before now. And here you were, pussy painfully raw as a reminder of how thoroughly this stranger, this neighbour of Sophie, had fucked you. And you were talking to him like you had known each other for years. As if you were friends, perhaps even more.

You had grown confident that you meant more to him in his mind. No one speaks about love on their first date, let alone on a one night stand. This wasn’t some meaningless sex to him, you could not imagine it to be meaningless to him. Not after what he had revealed to you. In a twisted way, this was a fantasy his mind had entertained him with, and his body had turned into a reality for him.

And you had not fought him off. Instead, you had indulged him. You squeezed your thighs together at the thought.

“Does it matter?’ He started to sound irritated. Perhaps you shouldn’t push it. Just as you stared down at the card in your hands again you could hear him stutter. “It’s called pseudobulbar affect. It makes it hard for me to express proper emotions. You make me upset, I start laughing.”

“And when I make you happy I make you cry?” you guessed.

Arthur looked at you with eyes wide. He looked shocked, you thought, and you quickly rambled over it. "It was silly of me to ask." 

“I can’t remember I ever did that.”

How innocent and utterly heart-breaking he sounded. How could a man who was so strong, so dangerous, bring up such contradicting feelings inside of you at the same time? You gasped.

“Not even when we first met?”

He stifled is laughter, but he did a poor job at it. “First time I saw you was when you stepped into the elevator. That was only seven weeks ago.”

_Shit._ He _did _know it _exactly_ to date. So he wasn’t confused or forgetful. He hadn’t mistaken you for someone else. This was his twisted mind, in which he had started some form of infatuation, had imagined the two of you together while you had _never_ even _talked_.

“And our first date then?” You dared ask.

His laughter stopped and instead he smiled at you. He reached out a hand, stroking your cheek affectionately. “Oh,” he said, breathing your name like a boy in love would. “I’ve watched you go in and out of Sophie’s home. I saw you bring Gigi to school, saw you pick her up, saw you go back home to your parents. You’re such a sweet girl. So pretty. So good to me. _Much too good for me_.”

_Fuck._ This was starting to get even creepier than you had thought. _Had he been following you around? _He nuzzled you close and you hummed. He had not given you a real answer to your question, but confirmation of your suspicions enough. Once you got home tonight you would have to look it up. That Pseudo-whatsitsname thing he suffered from. Did it make him delusional? And what could you do now? Now that you knew he had these thoughts about you? That he knew when you worked? Where you lived?

His hand came to hover about your knee and you saw him hesitate. As your eyes locked, you forced a small smile which seemingly was enough to encourage him to go on then. He placed his hand on top of your knee and instantly you felt him starting to relax. He rested his head against the couch, his hair sprawling around his face like a halo. He looked tired.

“Arthur,” you whispered, taking the liberty of leaning slightly over his slouched form on the couch. “Arthur, I really must go back to the girls. They’ve been alone for too long.”

“I understand,” Arthur groused, you wondered how awake he still was. “We can’t let the girls be unattended for too long.”

You smiled at that, not a forced one to keep up appearances but a genuine, real smile. “Thank you,” you whispered. It was a thank you for understanding you, a thank you for finally letting you go as his hand reluctantly slid off your knee, a thank you for letting you out of here alive.

As you stood up, you winced. The sore feeling between your legs once again reminding of you of what he had done, what had transpired between the two of you here. The room around you still smelled like cigarettes, but was now also carrying the heavy pungent smell of sex. You straightened your skirt and made your way over to the cabinet with your key on it. Each step brought back a certain sense of agony between your thighs and your walk must have looked more like a limp. Yet, with every sore step, you felt yourself grow more confident, more encouraged, and you knew that by the time you made it to the apartment’s door, your walk appeared to be almost normal again.

You placed your hand on the doorknob and were surprised to find that he had, in fact, not locked the door at all. The click must have just been the door closing.

Turning around to glance at Arthur once more, you saw he had fallen asleep. You’d always heard people say how men would become exhausted after a bit of _physicalness._ Seems those rumours were right.

He seemed much younger now he lay asleep like this, head thrown back, eyes closed, wrinkles of pain faded until it looked as if they didn’t exist. He looked so much younger now, so innocent. It was hard to imagine that this was the man who had cornered you like a predator, had taken from you what he craved, had left you feeling defiled and sore.

As you looked down at the apartment floor, you let out a deep sigh. You did not notice how, from his position on the couch, Arthur was watching you through nearly closed eyes. His hands rested between his legs. He had never felt as relaxed and as satisfied for as long as he could remember. And as you clicked the door shut behind you, he could not suppress a small smile.

_God,_ he loved you.

\-- ** --

~Bonus~

\-- ** --

It was already evening when Arthur woke up to an empty couch and a cold lap. The image of you sat on top of him lingered in his mind a moment longer, then, when it faded, he pushed himself up and searched for the nearest lamp. Switching it on, the light blinded him momentarily, and he looked down at himself, blinking a few times until he had gotten used to the brightness.

As he looked down, his brow furrowed and he let out a grunt. There, on the front of his trousers, was a stain he hadn’t noticed before. It was brown, like caked blood. And had definitely not been there when he put it on this morning. He ran his fingers past the stain as a way of testing it. Was it really there? He could feel the rough texture underneath his fingers. It was real.

The sight of it brought unbidden memories back to the front of his mind, of you curling your back and moaning on top of him. _It couldn’t have been_? Or _could it_?

He slowly waddled back to the couch, his thoughts racing. The feeling of you burned in his mind. Your tight cunt hot around him, your breasts bouncing, his hips snapping up as he made you ride him.

He sat down, rubbing his face as he tried to clear his thoughts. A whisper escaped him, _your name_.

And then he laughed.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your next day at work and you are just certain you're going to meet Arthur Fleck again. But when you do, things might take an interesting turn. Are you losing your sanity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow build as far as I can do, these first two chapters. But you're getting into it soon sweet kittens of mine (:

** **

**\--**

**Chapter 2**

\--

It was exactly one day after you had properly been introduced to Arthur Fleck, Sophie’s middle-aged neighbour with a neurological disorder. You had not had the chance to look it up yet and had only carefully asked about it at the dining table. But your mom and dad had never heard of it and had questioned whether it was a real condition at all, so you had kept your mouth shut and forced yourself to eat, despite the lack of appetite you had felt that evening.

You made your way down the crowded main shopping street of Gotham, your thoughts distraught. You had to go to Sophie’s again soon. You were already a bit late. But to return to that building, to risk seeing_ him_ again…..

You had visited all of the apothecaries you had come across on your way to Sophie’s, even going a bit off the route to increase your chances of finding what you were looking for, but none had been able to help you.

Due to the strikes and riots lots of medication had run out. So no morning after pills, no birth control (which you had not taken before because you were a single sensible young woman who had to save any amount of money she could, so spending it on birth control when you never engaged in such encounters seemed like a senseless thing to do. But oh- how you wished you would have been on it now!).

And to top it off, you were going to see _him_ again this afternoon, when you had to look after Gigi. Although it was not a given, there were no promises made and neither of you had agreed to meet, there was _no chance_ you would _not_ run into him. You could feel the ominous weight in the pit of your stomach that told you it would happen. And what would you do if he did it again? If he emptied himself inside of you for a second time? Perhaps even a third? What would happen if you fell pregnant? How were you to cope?

_No, don’t even think of it_. Your mother had always told you that if you thought of something long and hard, you would pull it towards you, make it happen. Although you weren’t superstitious you would not risk it. You had to make your mind blank.

But that was a hard task. You still felt him inside of you. There was a low and uncomfortable pressure in your abdomen, a slightly sick feeling.

You continued on your way to Sophie’s apartment, aware of your tardiness. But despite your efforts your mind kept wandering back to _him_. You knew nothing about him. Who exactly was this _Arthur Fleck? _

You should have reported him to the police, at least have told Sophie about him. But what would the police do, really? You’d seen enough situations to have lost your faith in the authorities of Gotham. And Sophie, would she be mad at you for being as careless as to forget to lock the door? For leaving not only her child, but two children, unattended for so long? Would she understand or would she send you out the door? You could _not_ risk it. You needed the money, you liked the job.

As you thought about your employer, you felt the dreary feeling inside of your tummy increase. _Sophie_.

You would have to come up with an excuse, and a pretty good one, for borrowing one of her panties. What would she think of you? A nanny who secretly stole your lingerie, would you keep a girl like that employed? Or would you keep your mouth shut and see a chance to return them in secret? Yes, you would have to go for that last option. You could not face the humiliation of explaining why you’d borrowed her pair to her.

You ran a hand over your face and groaned at the misery you had ended up in. You remembered vividly how you had stood in the kitchen yesterday after your return from Arthur’s apartment. How you had tried to ban him out of your thoughts and ignore the ache between your legs. You had been cleaning away any traces of crisp crumbs the best you could, not wanting Sophie to find about the _accident _in case she would have you explain why the fuck you left two five year olds alone. And then it had happened. As you’d stood in the kitchen working, suddenly all Arthur’s cum seemed to have come leaking out. The lukewarm gush had soaked your panties. It had freaked you out. You had not known that sperm could do this. Had you not lost everything already when Arthur had helped you climb off him?

You had felt so dirty that you’d gone straight to Sophie’s closet, not able to wear your own smudged underwear for a moment longer without constantly being reminded of his hard cock and the way he had defiled you. And so you had secretly borrowed one of her panties.

Today you had to return to work and pretend like everything was as usual. Like Sophie’s neighbour hadn’t come barging into her home and tugged you away. Like he had not buried himself deep inside of you and _oh-_

You willed your thoughts to grow _quiet._ Biting the inside of your cheek, you arrived at Sophie’s home. Standing still outside of the tall rundown building, you gathered your courage before you went in.

The ride up in the elevator was a quiet one. Still, the feeling of dread could not be chased out of your tummy, and you nervously kept flicking your eyes back to the buttons. Once you arrived on the right floor, you cautiously got out. You made your way over to Sophie’s apartment, already hearing Gigi’s voice coming from the inside, bright and cheerful, joined by Sophie’s laughter.

Your eyes flitted to Arthur’s door.

It was closed.

The faint smell of cigarette smoke reached your nostrils and before anything bad could happen, you inserted your key and twisted the doorknob, nearly falling into Sophie’s home before you quickly shut the door behind you.

Flashing her an apologetic smile, you straightened yourself against the doorpost and with an awkward ‘hi’ you stepped away from the door.

“Ah, there you are,” Sophie commented, having just come around the corner. “I’m glad you’re here.” She did not comment on your awkward timing or entrance, which was a relief. She was always kind to you, a rare trait to find in Gotham city.

When you had applied to be Gigi’s babysitter and you saw Sophie for the very first time, the two of you had hit it off straightaway. It certainly had helped that Gigi had been instantly fond of you as well.

Sophie reached with one hand for her coat while she had her shoes dangling on the fingers of the other. “I need to leave straightaway, but at least I’ll be off early today.” She placed her shoes on the floor, donned her coat and looked at you with a smile. “Don’t worry, you will get paid your full hours.” She stepped into her shoes. “I’ll be back around three.”

Your eyes widened. _Three?_ That was one hour short! Your mind was racing, thinking of how badly you needed the money from that one hour more. It somehow hadn’t registered in your brain that she had promised to pay you your usual hours. “But aren’t you usually done by four on a Friday?”

She laughed, her eyes crinkling. Her laughter was pleasant. Your felt yourself relax under her kind gaze. “I know, but my boss said I could get off earlier today because of the extra hours I spent working last week. _I know_, it’s_ crazy_, right? I’ll still pay you till four though, don’t worry.”

You nodded and watched her rummage around for her bag. Behind her, Gigi emerged in the hallway, smiling once she saw you. Then she quickly went to stand next to Sophie.

“Mommy, don’t go to work,” she said, her little voice whining. _Oh, she was a good actress_, you thought, because as soon as Sophie was out, she’d be the queen of the apartment and her voice would not sound small again until Sophie’s return. _Children_, they could all put on such great performances when around their parents.

“Now, now,” Sophie started while she gently took Gigi in her arms. You heard her mentioning your name, telling Gigi you were here to play with her until mommy would be back. “And,” she added swiftly, looking her daughter in the eyes, “I’ll be home even earlier today. With school and with playing with,” here Sophie looked over at you and mentioned your name with a smile, and Gigi followed her gaze and smiled as well, “time will fly and you won’t even think of me until I am home again.”

Gigi giggled, “Silly mommy,” she said, “Of course I will think of you!”

You locked eyes with Sophie. Both of you were sceptically raising an eyebrow, knowing that a few minutes after Sophie would be out of the door, Gigi would have totally forgotten about her. _Young children_. They were so easily distracted.

“But yes, I’ll be good,” Gigi finished wistfully. Sophie opened her arms and you watched amused how the two shared a heart-warming hug.

_It truly must be an exceptional feeling, to have someone to love as much as a child of your own_, you thought silently.

_No_.

The thought upset you and you had to call yourself to a halt. Such thoughts had always managed to fill you with a warmth of _what if_, but now had been replaced by the cold dread of _not yet._

You weren’t keen on finding out just yet how special such feelings could be.

Pushing back the memory of Arthur’s intense green eyes as he had come inside of you, and afterwards, as he had sat looking at you while you talked on the couch – that same damn couch that you had lost your virginity on.

_No_.

You subdued a shiver. _Don’t think of it._ You weren’t ready yet for all that. You were young and ambitious. And even if you didn’t have the proper background, the right connections and the opportunities to reach your goals, _not here in Gotham_, you sure as hell were going to try and get higher up the social ladder. You weren’t going to be put down by a baby, not now when you were still standing at the brink of all that life had to offer.

After the tight hug, Sophie rose again and wandered over to the door, opening it. You peered at the hallway behind her. Empty. _Thank God._

“Now, you’ll bring Gigi to school?” Sophie asked you. She knew you would, but she was accustomed to ask you anyway. _In case you would forget,_ you assumed. Not that you ever would forget such a thing.

You nodded. “Yes, I will.”

You felt how Gigi had come to stand next to you and had placed her hand on your leg, clutching at the material of your trousers - _Better be safe than sorry._ You weren’t going to risk wearing a skirt again. Gigi’s tiny hand felt nice and warm on your shin, making you forget your fear for Arthur if just for a moment.

Sophie had knelt down to be on eye-level with Gigi. “I am so sorry I can’t bring you myself today, Gigi.” She looked genuinely upset about it.

“It’s okay, mommy,” Gigi confirmed that she would be kind to you and would not cause a fuss. Then, after admitting she loved her mother real much, and after giving her another tight hug, Sophie was out of the door and bounded into the joined hallway.

“Remember, I’ll be home by three,” she said, her words echoing throughout the hall. “That should get you off early as well,” she told you with a wink.

You smiled at her and watched her go. After she had disappeared from sight, you cast one final glance at Arthur’s door. _Still closed_. With a sigh of relief, you ushered Gigi back into the apartment and closed the door behind you, locking it before you could forget. _Not that you ever would forget it again._

“You heard your ma. Let’s get you ready for school.”

The day proceeded eventful. Gigi was dropped off at school without any hazards. You got to the groceries with a list Sophie had left you on the counter, and after returning to her house again, still finding the hallways empty, you set about cleaning her apartment the best you could, as you had promised you would do. By the time noon came around, Gigi’s school had ended and you went to pick her up. You spent the next few hours playing in the living room, laughing as you imagined to be princesses and pirates on the hunt for treasure.

Sophie had returned home all too soon and you felt a pang of sadness knowing that you would have to go home. Playing with Gigi made you feel so careless, so free. You knew that returning home, you’d be faced with a grittier part of reality. The one where you still lived with your parents, the only space to yourself a crowded small bedroom, with little perspective of a future and barely enough money for you and your parents to get by. The reality where you were faced with obligations, taxes and an endless stream of job applications and rejections. Being a babysitter, or a nanny, wasn’t what you aspired to be, it was what you had experience in and had been lucky enough to find a trustworthy employer for.

“Is it three already?” You bemoaned whilst Sophie passed you to place her bag on the table. Gigi immediately left your side to run up to her mother and the two of them shared a long embrace.

_Ah,_ you did _feel_ that. It was hard to miss the love in their eyes as they looked at each other. Sophie’s life might not be a fairy tale either, but you sometimes wondered if she knew how lucky she truly was.

Deep down inside, you_ longed _to have someone to hug and protect like that. _Eventually._ But everything started with being able to care for oneself, physically, mentally and financially. You let out a sigh.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Sophie commented, probably thinking your sigh was because you’d been having so much fun with Gigi and that had been interrupted. Well, she was sort of right.

“It sure does,” you concurred. You reached for your belongings. It wasn’t much, but it all fit in a small handbag which you swung over your shoulder. You gathered your coat – how long did you own this one? You’d worn it for at least the past three years – and put it on. One of the buttons was getting loose. You’d have to fix that soon. Then you turned back to Sophie and Gigi and said your goodbyes.

“See you all Monday,” you said with a bright smile.

“See you Monday,” Sophie said in turn. Her smile was bright, reaching her eyes. She encouraged Gigi to wave at you, although Gigi was more than capable of making that choice on her own. You left the apartment with another small sigh.

The moment the door closed behind you, you could feel a small smile creep onto your face. How you _loved_ your job.

You made your way over to the elevator and pushed the button, your thoughts temporarily focussed on something funny Gigi had told you after school. It was an unguarded moment in which you had forgotten your surroundings and, _of course,_ that was when you heard _your name._

_A click of the tongue._

You froze.

There it was, a low man’s voice whispering your name longingly.

Slowly you turned around, just as the elevator pinged behind you. You heard the doors open. Just one step backwards and you’d be in.

But you were already facing_ him_. Because there, in front of you, was Arthur. His apartment door ajar, revealing his lanky frame.

_How did he know? How did he know I’m leaving now_, you think? _I never leave this early on a Friday_. Unless he’d been listening that morning.

_Of course._ You had smelled the cigarette smoke. But his door had been closed. You were certain of it. A thought hit you. Could he have been standing behind the door, eavesdropping? No, but that would be crazy, _right? _A very wrong kind of crazy.

A blueish tint coloured the apartment behind him as he stood leaning casually with his arm against the doorpost, looking at you with puppy-like eyes. In his mouth there was a cigarette, held deftly between his fingers as he took a deep drag. But _oh-_ those eyes. _How dare he look at you with such sad longing eyes? How dare he pout his lips around that cigarette? And in such an intense way that it sent warm sparkles down your tummy._

Your lips parted, but no words came forth. You stood frozen, your fingers clenching and unclenching nervously around the handles of your bag while your mind tried to think of words to get away safely. Behind you the doors of the elevators made a sad swooshing sounds as they clumsily drifted shut. And in front of you, you heard your name _again. _It rolled of his tongue like it was a delicate sweet, sending another bout of hot flames licking the inside of your belly.

_Damn him._ Damn his sweet whispering voice. _Damn his green beckoning eyes. _You felt the urge to step closer to him, a magnetic pull that grew harder to ignore. How could his eyes alone be enough to persuade your body to give in?

“Where did you think you’re going?” His voice is sulky, but the underlying tone is firm, signalling that it would be dangerous to ignore his question.

“I-,” you stammered, “home?” _Why were you even explaining yourself to him?_

Something in his expression fell, his eyes turning even sadder. “Am I not your home any longer?”

_What?_

“Arthur I,” he’s mad. Crazy. Hallucinating again?

“No,” Arthur was swifter than you. His pleading look turned into a frown as he spoke, his voice turning a little harsher. The cigarette was lowered to his left side, the glow of the tip glimmering dangerously in the otherwise badly lit hallway.

“I know what you mean,” he swiftly continued, “No need to explain yourself. If you’re in a hurry you’re in a hurry. But judging by the time you normally get off the job, your parents can wait a little longer, can’t they? You won’t leave me standing here like a mad fool. You won’t. You’re not that kind of person.”

_He knew your working hours_? Before you could give his words another thought, there was that awkward laugh again that made his jaw seemed to lock and made your own jaw ache at the sound of it. Unpleasant and _painful._ You hurried your way over to him just in an attempt to make him stop. The laughter looked painful and you knew that according to his card, it wasn’t something he could help. That alone was knowledge that made you act upon instinct.

Coming over to him worked _somewhat._ At least upon your approach his laughter had turned back to giggles which he tried to hide behind his sleeve, raising his arm to hide his mouth behind the crook of his elbow. His cigarette was still lit in his hand, the smoke tickling your nostrils and making you wince slightly.

“Arthur, I, please,” _God, _what had you wanted to say? _You’re ill and you need to see a doctor? We don’t even know each other? You can’t say such things about what I would or wouldn’t do because up until yesterday we’ve never even talked?_

You wanted to say so much, but instead you smiled at him in sympathy. It was a sad smile, it must be. Your eyes were filled with concern, your lips pressed together in a thin line and curling only the slightest. But you worried for him. You really did. How was this man even allowed to live on his own?

“I know,” Arthur responded, making you think for a moment that he must have read your thoughts. But then you realised he must have filled in whatever you wanted to say with a version of his own. You could only hazard a guess as to what that would be. It must have been something good though, something that soothed him, for his giggles had subsided.

He brought his hands up to cup your face, the cigarette close to your left cheek but not near enough to cause a burn. Then his lips were upon you.

It happened so fast, you really hadn’t enough time to react. With eyes open wide, you felt the firm press of his lips against your own. Then his tongue, wet against your soft bottom lip, pushing gently, begging to be let in.

You felt the pressure on the sides of your head as he held you tightly, hands cupped at either side of your head, tilting your head slightly so your lips parted and his tongue could slip its way in. The odd taste of smoke rolled into your mouth, tickling your tongue before you felt his brush past yours gently.

The hold he had on you was like he was starved, desperate to show his need for you. And to your surprise, you felt yourself give in. Because it felt _so good_. He was warm against your body and your thoughts just fled. You couldn’t think.

Before you knew it, the kiss had broken and you were being ushered into his apartment, his hand hot and firm upon the small of your back, guiding you.

Inside, the television was switched on, causing for blue and white silhouettes to flicker across the ornamented wallpaper. On the screen, images of an old movie were flashing by, but the sound had been turned down allowing you to hear only the heavy breathing of Arthur and your own. You looked around, your heart beat high within your chest as your eyes landed upon Arthur.

There was a dark longing in his gaze as his eyes rested upon you. He smoothly closed the door behind him, then flicked the cigarette into an empty glass on the cabinet to his side. He let his eyes wander over you, studying you from head to toe with a deep hunger, as if his gaze alone could devour you. And it sent little tingles of electricity down your spine.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, alright?” He asked, but his voice was thick with lust and the last few words weren’t much more than a sensual mutter. You felt the effect of his voice upon your chest, how your breathing halted.

You looked at him for guidance, the confusion visible on your face. But luckily, Arthur was already showing you the way, walking in front of you while he mussed his hair with his hand and leading you into the only bedroom this apartment seemed to have.

In it, you saw a bed broad enough to fit in two people. But the blankets surprised you. The little patterns of flowers, matching the wallpaper, weren’t what you would expect of a man. Was this Arthur’s soft side? You didn’t have time to ponder because Arthur was behind you, running his hands up and down your arms and placing a gentle kiss in your neck. He worked his fingers deftly, undoing the buttons of your coat. His kisses distracted you so you hardly noticed what he’d been doing until your coat came off and fell in a poodle on the floor, bag alongside it, and you saw Arthur grin victoriously.

Then his lips were upon your skin again, working his way in open-mouthed kisses down your neck and to your shoulder. His hands moved up at the same time, working their way from your wrists up to your shoulders where he gently gave you a squeeze. Then his head was gone and the distance between you increased. You turned to look at him to find him panting, his green eyes half-lidded in ecstasy but still upon you while he ran a hand through his brown tousled hair.

_Too much clothes_. The thought must have hit you at the same time as it did Arthur, for you saw him starting to tug at his waistcoat, taking it off in an eager hurry. He licked his lips, his eyes still upon you, then kicked off his shoes. His blouse was open by the time that you had taken a step back, away from him and unintentionally towards the bed.

This was the first time you’d seen his bare chest, his naked skin. So thin, so frail, so skinny. As he stretched you could count his ribs and your eyes flew wide at the realisation how underfed this man must be. But then he hunched forward, struggling with the fly of his trousers, an otherwise funny display if it hadn’t been real.

_What were you going to do_? It was obvious that Arthur Fleck wanted you, again. And that you had no idea how to fend him off. If you even felt the intention of doing so. There was something fascinating about this man, something that attracted you to him. But that didn’t take away the little voice of reason inside your mind.

You watched as his strong hands struggled with the front of his trousers. The veins on his hands accentuated by the daylight popping through the bedroom window. He had such strong hands. _Imagine how those hands would feel around your breasts, touching your skin, holding your waist -_

Your thoughts came to a sudden stop when out of the brown slacks came his manhood. It was big and pulsing with need. The veins were showing, making his cock look an angry purple, the tip leaking pearly white precum. The sight of it made your mouth turn dry.

_Oh God_. You might have felt it before, but you sure as hell had never seen it in its full glory like this before.

And _Good Gracious_, had that _thing _fit inside of you? _How_?

You felt your panic return to you. The brave façade temporarily dropping as you took another step backwards, your eyes still focused on his cock.

“Undress,” he stood there so calmly, palming himself with his right hand. Like he didn’t expect for you to cause a fuss over it all, like you would just obey. And _damn _him, he was _right._ You carefully started with your blouse, unbuttoning it and discarding it on the floor without a thought.

_Why were you doing this? _Arthur gave an approving hiss the moment your blouse had come off. His brows furrowed as he looked at you in full concetration. There you were, in your bra and your trousers. You felt your cheeks burn red. _What to take of next?_

You thought you were being clever, bending forward to take off your shoes as that would reveal the least of you, but when you looked up again you saw that Arthur’s gaze had darkened even more - you had not thought it possible. But his eyes had been glued to your chest and you realised he’d been focusing on your cleavage.

Oh- wait.

Huffing, you straightened yourself up again and saw how his gaze finally left your breasts to travel up to your face. Slowly your hands moved down your trousers, hooking your fingers beneath the waistline of your jeans. You shrugged them off, giving him a bit of a show. You could do this, shaking your hips experimentally as you stepped out of your trousers. Seeing him watch you, it felt empowering, and you bit your bottom lip, moving your hips seductively. It felt inexplicably good to have someone so desperate for you, craving you.

Arthur stood leaning against the bedroom door and cocked a brow at the sight of your little dance, his arms crossed in front of his chest, stiff cock jutted against his own belly, accidentally smearing precum against his own skin.

He was smirking, clearly enjoying what you were doing. And though you wanted to, you could not deny the surge of pride you felt rushing through you at seeing the effect you had on this man. Once you were left only in your underwear, you turned shyly towards him, uncertain as what to do next.

“On the bed,” his sudden demand came, catching you by surprise.

“Arthur, I-”

But strong hands had wrapped around your arm and the last inches towards the bed were covered in a few quick steps. You felt yourself fall down upon the soft duvet and were only capable of gawking up at him in surprise when suddenly his thumbs were hooked around your panties and with a swift yank, your nether regions were exposed.

In a smooth flip, he had you turned around and up on your hands and knees. His fingers hooked behind your bra, unclasping it. You watched it fall down beneath you and groaned.

Apparently the foreplay had ended. You felt him shift behind you, the tip of his cock stroking past your already wet folds, combining your wetness with his precum and smearing it past your entrance.

“Arthur,” You tried again.

But he whispered your name longingly and you fell silent. You could not see him, but you felt him, and you heard his desire for you in his voice.  
  
“Sweet kitten,” he murmured, his hand guiding his cock forward, positing himself, “sweet girl.”

And then without a warning he pushed forward. Your pussy lips parted on their own accord, taking him in, as your normal lips parted in a silent cry.

It hurt. _By God_, it _hurt_. His dick didn’t slip in as easily as either of you would have liked. Instead, it felt raw as he pushed himself in with effort. You gasped and clutched the blankets underneath you. They smelled like faint perfume, a mixture of faded roses and lavender. Another thrust, he still wasn’t in quite fully yet, but you couldn’t suppress another pained gasp.

His hands reached for your breasts, squeezing them firmly with each thrust. You felt your body move, forward, backwards, your boobs bouncing, his hands squeezing, and your lips parted in another silent cry.

“A-Arthur,” you wanted to plead him to stop, but then bit your tongue.

Arthur’s hand curled in your hair, lifting your head up and craning your neck in such an angle that he could look at your face. You were hissing, your teeth gnawing as you tried not to let it show how unbearable his movements became with each and every shallow thrust.

Upon seeing the pained expression on your face, his frown softened and changed into one of concern. He let go of your hair, scooting backwards, his cock slipping out of your cunt with an embarrassingly wet sloshing sound. Apparently his thrusts had gotten you slicker, but it wasn’t enough to justify the position you’d been in.

“I’m sorry,” you could hear him stammer, clearly confused and embarrassed. “It’s not supposed to hurt.”

When you peeked at him from over your shoulder, you could see the confusion clearly written all over his face.

“It never did before,” he stammered as he ran a hand through his messy locks.

You wanted to scoff at him. _Yeah well, it never was real before_. But you bit your tongue as his hands grabbed your hips and he flipped you over, shoving your discarded bra aside with his arm so it tumbled off the bed. You lay sprawled on your back, your hair flowing like a fan into every direction on the pillow below.

Curious to as what he would do next, you looked up at him, only to see him reach out a hand to gently stroke your cheek, his expression one of pure concentration. His green eyes focused on your face. This was kindness, different than the fierce unannounced thrusts he’d done earlier. This was true concern you saw reflected in his eyes. And as your own mind provided you: he was being mindful.

One hand gently trailed up your shoulder until it had reached your cheek, then, carefully, he cupped your cheek in his hand. His thumb gently stroked past your lips while his own parted in a breathless gasp. His thumb curled between your lips and you could taste the bitterness and saltiness of his calloused skin. It was oddly erotic, to feel him press his finger inside of your mouth, to suckle on his skin.

“You’re beautiful,” the words came out as a breathless whisper. His thumb leaving a wet trail as it left your lips to trace down your bare chest. “You’re more beautiful than I can remember.”

_Hah._

“I never changed.” You smirked at your own cocky reply, but that smirk faded as his hand found one of your breasts, his fingers tweaking a nipple. You gasped. A rush of arousal coursing through you. Why hadn’t anyone ever told you that your nipples could be so sensitive? That they could work like a switch? That once they were tweaked, you forgot any hesitations you might have felt and craved his cock inside of you? That now it suddenly was you who felt like she couldn’t wait any longer to have him deep inside.

And as if hearing your thoughts, he was upon you again in a flash, forcing your legs apart with just one hand and pressing lightly against your thigh with the other to keep your legs spread open. He guided himself towards your entrance and carefully pushed forth. It took two attempts to enter you, his cock flopping aside at the first try as your pussy desperately was pushing him out. But the second, he pressed himself in with more force and more guidance, and you felt him slip deeper and deeper, eliciting a cry from your lips when he filled you to the brim. You could feel every inch of his throbbing cock against your silken walls.

It must have felt good for him too, because he closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself, bottoming out, taking a deep breath as he did so. There was a small smile on his lips. And you could not deny, the feel of him deep inside of you made you want to buck your hips.

And then he moved. _Oh_, how wonderful a difference this was from yesterday. Each thrust he went in smoother, each thrust made your cunt slicker and his cock dive in deeper until the head of his shaft hit your cervix repeatedly, mercilessly, and you cried out his name because it felt _so good_.

Arthur moved in a firm rhythm but as he neared his peak, he rested his head in the crook of your neck. Your walls started to clench around him and now you could hear Arthur’s moans growing louder until he was laughing - _Was he actually laughing? _– near your ear. You felt his lips curl against your skin, felt his teeth scrape against your neck.

His laughter turned into a pained moan, his thrusts became erratic, his hips snapped against your own. And then he buried himself deep with one last thrust and you felt it: a hot liquid streaming deep inside of your core. And as he came, you shuddered around him, joining him as your body trembled because of the strong orgasm wrecking through you.

To your embarrassment you realized you had actually been moving your hips along with him, had actually been moaning in pleasure near the end of it, had actually come around his thick shaft and had rejoiced in the feeling of his hot cum spurting inside of you. Somehow, it had been so dirty that it had made it all that much better. _What the hell was happening to you?_

The two of you lay there in silence, quietly, with you wrapped in Arthur’s arms while his cock was still buried inside of you, occasionally twitching in the aftermath of your shared bliss.

With a deep sigh, Arthur eventually rolled off of you and you realised he’d been holding himself up on his elbows, as not to squash you with his weight. _Thoughtful._

You quickly buried your face in the blankets, not wanting him to see your flushed cheeks in case he might be able to read your unbidden thoughts. You had liked it, enjoyed it. What was wrong with you?

Arthur rolled onto his side, lying on the bed next to you. You heard him reach for his cigarettes, then heard the sound of a lighter being flicked on followed by the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. You scrunched your eyes and inhaled deeply against the blankets, protecting you from the inevitable scent of smoke that would soon enforce the already pungent lingering smell that seemed to inhabit the entire apartment.

But you would bear it. Even if the smoke always managed to get your chest aching and your throat sore for the next couple of days.

So lost you were in your thoughts that Arthur’s voice made you jump.

“Did I hurt you? Yesterday?” You were surprised by the sincerity in his voice as he asked you. Slowly, you turned to your own side, feeling a sudden gush of warmth between your legs as the mixture of hot semen and warm slick slipped out of you at the movement. You looked at Arthur, catching the concern in his features.

“How- what do you mean?” you asked. Sure, he _had_ _hurt_ you. He had forced himself upon you. How had he expected for you to reply to a question like that? That you would say _no, it’s fin_e?

“It’s just,” he started, looking boyishly handsome as he stammered his way through his words. “I-I saw some blood and – you had me worried I might have been t-too harsh with you?”

Blood_. Oh._

“Arthur, I,” you frowned. _How were you going to say this?_  
  
“But judging by the way you were just now, I take it yesterday must have been fine for you,” Arthur finished before you could even continue. Your eyes snapped up to him to catch sight of a small crooked grin. How could he be this smug, after all he’d done? How could he be so relaxed, laying on his side and leaning on his arm with his cigarette pinched between his fingers, ogling you?

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks.

“Yes, sure. _Forget it.”_ Now you had said the exact thing you had wanted to avoid saying. He seemed to accept your words however, for he took another deep drag, his eyes still upon you but now with a mischievous twinkle inside of them.

Your eyes sought for your clothes. They were scattered around the room.

_Now_, you could just _stand up_, _dress_, and _leave._ You could even go as far as to tell him to leave you alone. But if anything, this was your chance to get to know more about him. Why not see who or what you were dealing with now that you had the chance?

“Arthur, I….” _What was the best way to go about this?_ He was an enigma, a paradoxical existence in your bleak looking world. You liked the man, you could not deny it, despite all that he had done to you and despite the fact that he radiated a sense of danger. But there was also an aura of innocence around him now that he relaxed. Something so childlike, so pure.

“You know I have to return home soon. My parents will worry about me if I stay away for too long,” you started. And it was a good start, you thought. Apparently he had accepted that you still lived with your parents. How he knew was beyond you. But if it had been part of his fantasy then so be it. It made it all the easier to speak frank to him.

“I understand,” Arthur surprised you with his reply. You had thought he might create a fuss over you wanting to leave, what with the way he had said that _he_ was supposed to be your _home_ earlier on in the hallway. _Good,_ perhaps there might be some room to work reality back into this man’s life, you thought. Arthur clicked his tongue, “They would be worried about their precious daughter.”

“Exactly.” You paused, letting the words sink in. Was he concerned about your parents being concerned about you? Or had there been another reason he had deliberately taken the word daughter on his tongue. Did he have children already? Was he a father? And if not, did he want to be? Because you could not guarantee he wouldn’t become one if he kept up the pace with his sexual urges. So many questions suddenly filled your mind. You knew _nothing_ of him. If you wanted to know more, you had to carefully drag it out of him. And so you tactfully said: “You know how it is.”

“No,” Arthur replied, surprising you again, but in a good way. “I don’t.”

Did that mean he had no hidden wife or girlfriend? No children of his own? You decided to push him a little. “You don’t?”

But Arthur’s expression turned foul and he took another deep drag from his cigarette, his head lowering slightly though his eyes never left yours.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, voice dangerously low.

_Hold up?_ What did this mean? Had he had a child and lost it? Had he had a wife? Or was this something to do with his own childhood? Your thoughts were running wild inside your head. Who was this man? What was his history, his background?

You made up your mind and scooted closer to him, cuddling him, then looked at him with the cutest eyeblink you could perform. _That’s it._ You could see how his breath seemed to falter, his lips parted as his eyes focused on your lips.

_This man,_ your mind gratefully provided for you now that both fear and bliss weren’t clouding your thoughts any longer, _This man thought he was in a relationship with you_. You’d figured as much as that. And perhaps you could cultivate that delusion into something that would make you less scared. For instance, if you played along, you would not need to fear him creeping up behind you. And you could possibly drag out some well-deserved sex whenever you fancied as well. Why not make the best out of the situation you were presented with?

“It’s just been me and my mother for as long as I can recall,” you were grateful that he continued, explaining himself as he went along, now apparently feeling safe enough to do so in your embrace. You had not even had to coax him to tell more. All it had taken was a moment of silence and your concerned eyes upon him. It had done the trick.

“My father, he walked out on us,” you heard the emotion in Arthur’s voice as it raised a notch. You admired him for opening up like this to you. But then you saw how his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears and _wow_….. whatever you had stumbled upon, it ran deep. The sight twisted something inside of you, something unpleasant. “He went away one day for cigarettes,” Arthur said with a pained smile. He scoffed, clearly suppressing a few chuckles. You feared he would be laughing again soon, but he managed to control himself. “Never bothered to return. Or so I thought. Figured that was a lie.”

“How horrible,” you meant it, even though it came out as nothing more than a sigh. Arthur’s lack of movement had you worried. Whatever had happened in the past between his parents had hit him hard.

“I only found out about this last week, you know?” He continued, “That my own mother had lied to me? That she knew who my father was all along. That he did not want me, or her. But she lied.”

_His own mother had lied to him?_ “Arthur, I don’t know what to say. How could she have lied to you?” You felt for him, you actually felt for him even though you still didn’t know the ins and outs of what had occurred. But all you saw was a man who was clearly heavily traumatised by these sad events from his past, and at the sight of his fallen expression you felt your heart clench painfully.

“Well, no longer. She will lie to me no longer.” Arthur said, voice oddly flat. You did not know what to make of it, so you said the only thing that came to mind.

“I am sorry.”

At this, Arthur’s eyes lit up and it was as if he suddenly could see again. His expression softened, his hands reached for yours.

“Don’t. There’s nothing for you to apologise for. You are the only person to have shown me any kindness, any form of understanding.” His voice broke with emotion and it made you swallow hard. If this was the image he had of you inside of his head, could you break it? Would you want to?

Arthur’s voice droned on, each word forced bitterly through gritted teeth. You felt his arms tense around you, as if he were afraid to let go, pushing you closer to his bare chest. You rested your cheek upon his abs, marvelling at how soft his skin was, then being brought back to reality by the firm grip he had on your waist as he cuddled you closer to him. “People are so cruel these days, there’s no decency any more. Like, they don’t care about others dying on the sidewalk or being kicked nearly to death in the subway. They don’t care. It’s like it’s getting crazier out there.”

_True that,_ you thought and huffed, forcing back an ironic smile. “They probably are,” you say, thinking of how the apothecaries had run out of almost any sensible kind of medicine. Lots of people needed them not to suffer from psychosis. If that safety net fell away….. “There’s no medical supplies anymore.”

You felt Arthur’s arms freeze around you. “Yeah?”

You were surprised by how surprised he sounded. You would have thought with his condition he might be on medicine as well and must have encountered the lack of them. But you decided not to ask about this. Instead, you focused on your worries, sharing them with him.

“Of course that will have an effect. There's no simple things supplied anymore either. No pills for headaches, no antiflu, no birthcontrol pills," you brought it in real smooth. "People can’t buy medicines to keep their thoughts straight. All loco’s go loco, so to speak,” you said, nuzzling up against him and smiling up at him as innocently as you could. You felt how tense he suddenly had become and you wanted nothing more but to try and make him relax.

“And you’re not bothered by that?” He asked in turn upon seeing you gaze up at him with a small smile. He sounded sceptical though, as if he wasn’t quite sure if all of this was truly happening.

“Of course I am,” You said. “But it’s hard to help them. I’m not excusing their behaviour, but the government should step up here. The lack of medicine is disturbing.” And a real problem, you could not help but think as worry crept back inside your head and a little voice whispered to you that there were no condoms, no morning after pills and you still felt the slickness of his cum between your thighs.

Something in his eyes sparked. “There are lots of sick people out here.”

You heard it. Not just the tone of his voice but the way he had said here rather than there.

“Yes,” you replied, worrying your lip for a moment with your teeth as you pondered what to say next. Your hands pressed against his chest as a silent reminder that you were there for him and it helped him to remain calm. His comment irked you slightly, knowing he had a condition but not the extend of it. So you made a gamble. “But being sick doesn’t mean they should go about _unloved_.”

You had stressed the word, feeling you were slowly starting to unravel the mystery that was Arthur Fleck. A man who had medical problems, who thought you were together, who had suffered a sad past and who craved nothing more but affection. At least, you thought this much was right.

His eyes softened upon your words. “No, no, they should not,” he whispered. “They are still people.”

“Yes,” you concurred, silently tracing a finger down his chest.

“And people have feelings,” Arthur’s hand caught your own, bringing it up to his lips before placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“Yes.”

He was smiling at you now and it was such a beautiful sight to see. Not a forced smile caused by his condition, but a genuine smile, one of mirth.

“Will you miss me when I go home tonight?” The words came out unbidden. But you thought you hadn’t seen him look this happy before and you wondered how he would be after you had left his home.

“I will always miss you, kitten. There’s not a second that goes by without you on my mind.” _Kitten,_ you thought you had to ask him about that nickname next time. But you took the compliment. To have someone think of you every moment of the day was a heart-warming thought. At least it didn’t frighten you as much as you had feared it would when you woke up that morning, dread for meeting him again filling your entire body and soul. But now, what had changed? You didn’t know, but from being terribly afraid to see him, you had gone into pitying him and wanting to comfort the man.

You had the really disturbing feeling he needed you in this or things could go very, very wrong.

“You’re too sweet,” you cooed and he chuckled. He ran a hand up your back, playing carefully with your hair.

“I will see you tomorrow?” He asked, but it felt as if he stated it. As if saying no, wasn’t an option.

“I don’t work in the weekend.”

“I know. But I thought, we could just go get a coffee or so?” Ah, there was that charming smirk of him. How could you refuse? After all, another chance to get to know this man better.

“Would a hot cocoa be all right as well?” You asked, imitating his playful smirk.

But he acted surprised and his smile fell. His hand curled around your wrist, holding the arm you had placed upon his stomach. “You don’t drink coffee?”

He seemed panicked. _What if this was another of his fantasies,_ you thought alarmed. You decided to laugh it off. “I didn’t say that. Just testing how you would reply.”

But he didn’t respond to it as well as you hoped he would. Instead of laughing along with you, he looked at you in concern. “Does that means I failed?”

“Nah.” His concern ebbed away from his face and a comfortable silence fell. It felt oddly good to lay side by side, to inhale his scent and feel his warmth. Something about him made you feel safe and happy? In a good way. Until Arthur broke away to tap his cigarette above a glass on the bedside table. He lay back and took another long drag. Your eyes searched for a clock and upon realising the time, you decided you had to make an excuse and leave for home. You did not want to worry your parents. Perhaps if you told him something that he wanted to hear, flatter his ego, would be a good idea to part with. That way, he would let you go and be in a merry mood while doing so.

Yep, you could do this.

“Good God,” that had been an unwanted escaped thought and not at all your intention to voice out loud. But it made the words that came after carrying even _that more force._

“I need to go home, but I- I love you. I love you so, so much,” you said it as you cuddled him close, your arms wrapped around his waist and your face buried against his bare chest. _You didn’t mean it,_ that part about loving him. But somehow with the way your voice broke as you spoke, it sounded more sincere than anything you’d ever said before.

You were afraid to see how he would react and so you kept your face hidden against his chest. But you could hear the start of his laughter, felt the low rumbling inside of his chest. Still you held him, smelled the bitter scent of his sweat, the overpowering fresh scent of cigarette smoke, and the faded scent of Eau de Cologne.

You tightened your hold on him even more, as if you didn’t ever want for him to go even though you were jumping to get home and back to the safety of your own chamber. In the back of your mind, you thought you could have made an amazing actress. But you were taken out of your thoughts when Arthur circled an arm around your waist to pull you even closer, even if it wasn’t physically possible.

“T-Thank you,” Arthur’s laughter had turned to hiccups. But in between, he thanked you so heartily and whispered your name, over and over, through sputtered laughs.

His hands were on your cheeks again, the cigarette on the bedside table, discarded but still glowing in the glass tray. He had set it aside in order to attend to you, to thank you. And you felt your cheeks flush at the realisation, his warm hands upon your skin again.

He cradled your face so gently, as if you were a porcelain doll. His green eyes sparkled. Then a whisper, a confession you think might never have escaped him if he hadn’t dreamt you up for many weeks now. “_I love you too_.”

You had expected it, yet you couldn’t help how your eyes widened at the way he tenderly whispered the confession. Not in a million years had you dreamt a man to whisper these words to you as passionately as he just did.

And even if it was based on his own deranged fantasies about you, his words _touched_ your heart.

_Oh_\- what had you gotten yourself into? How could you fall for a man, in less than two days’ time, who had taken so much of you in such crude ways? How could you pity him? And what’s worse, how could you be wishing to build out this imaginary relationship he thought you had with him?

You must be losing your mind.

Arthur held you close, and you closed your eyes, relinquishing in his warm embrace for a moment longer before you had to leave. His lips brushed past your ear, followed by a silky whisper.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

And at this, you couldn’t help but think: _I know exactly what you did_.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your weekend and the following monday. Somehow, Arthur's affection is growing on you, just like his touch.

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**Chapter 3**

\--

What on earth were you doing? You couldn’t wrap your head around it. But standing here, outside the little coffeeshop, waiting for Arthur in the cold of the early morning air, you seriously started to doubt your own sanity. Meeting the man who had forced himself upon you and who was a clear mental case, _willingly_…. Who would do that?

What were you even thinking?

You were nervous, you could tell by the slight trembling of your hands as your rubbed your eyes and tried to keep your mind focused. Perhaps you could blame it off on the cold? It was October after all, with its unpredictable weather, one moment it was hot enough to wear skirts, but then a breeze would pick up and you’d be donning your autumn clothes. And fashionably as it was, these past few days you had resorted to wearing your scarf for practical reasons, out of necessity.

You checked the clock hanging on the opposite side of the road, again, seeing how you somehow had arrived very early. Nerves did that to you. Yet you kept glancing at the clock, despite time creeping forward as slow as a snail.

Another quarter to go before your date would officially start. You’d agreed on the location and time yesterday, just before you had left Arthur, and you had been thinking about meeting him again all through the night. As a result you’d gotten little sleep. Not that you would have been able to sleep peacefully either way. You still felt sore of the rough fucking you’d received.

You had not dared tell your parents about Arthur, so you went with the excuse of going out to find a second job instead. It was an excuse they would swallow with ease. Your father kept complaining that working for Sophie didn’t nearly fill your week with hours and that you could do better, find a job to work more hours and earn more money.

And now your mind was back on the job issue and the lack of money that caused for you and your family to struggle. Arthur seemed to be doing okay, you could not help but think. He had a nice suit, a place of his own, lovely wallpaper and his very own tv. Damn, he even had enough money to smoke like a train – not that cigarettes were expensive. If you wouldn’t be choking whenever you came near a smoker you probably would have picked up a pack yourself in the past. It was one of the little things in life that came at a reasonable price and made things more bearable for the people who lived in this city. You dug your hands in your coat’s pockets and sighed, your eyes sliding down at the tiles underneath your feet.

Hardly a supply of the basics, not enough money for food, no luxuries, and with the riots on top of it all certain chains of supplies had run dry. Such as medicine. _Gotham was a shite place to be_.

“Hello kitten,” the low murmur sent a shiver down your spine and as you looked up, eyes wide in surprise, you came face to face with Arthur Fleck.

His yellowish brown coat was elegantly draped around him, obviously a size too small for his height, but still the garment managed to flow around him. You had not expected him for another fifteen minutes or so, but apparently he too had arrived early. You’d rather not think that _great minds think alike_, for comparing your mind to one like Arthur’s seemed to be degrading in a way. You still weren’t sure what odd twists had been laid in that brain of his.

Arthur stood smiling at you awkwardly, just a few feet away from you, his hands behind his back. But despite his feeble attempt, you could tell he was hiding a bouquet of flowers behind him. _Gosh, really?_ It had been so terribly unexpected and soft from him that you could not help it. Your lips twitched into a smile and for a moment the shivers of anticipation seemed to subside and you started to feel more relaxed. In any other setting, _this was actually kind of sweet of him. _

If you could just forget that nothing about this situation was _abnormal,_ then yes, he looked pretty sweet for a date. Well-dressed, well-groomed, bearing gifts, how much more romantic could a man be? But when you took away that façade of normality, when you stripped the situation down to the bare facts, you were left with a dangerous man who believed himself to be your romantic boyfriend.

A man who believed that you chose him for yourself.

_You chose fuck._

Wait.

_Okay, let’s mentally rephrase that_, you thought, trembling slightly at how accurate your own mind was working today. _You did not chose anything but to play along and accept his delusions_. And in a weird and funnily twisted way, that literally meant you had chosen _fuck all_. Or more specifically, to _fuck him_.

Your hand drifted to your abdomen absentmindedly, as if you wanted to shield your core from this man. But then you reminded yourself why you were there_. _And that you were still smiling at his kind gesture of the flowers._ Smiling didn’t even take a lot of effort. _

“Arthur,” you said, taking a step closer to him. His smile grew wider when you approached him. You heard him say your name in turn, voice lilted and pleased, a twinkle of happiness in his eye, like saying each other’s name was a funny little dance between the two of you.

_And perhaps it was, for you had never heard him say your name with such joy before_. The lack of _need_ in his voice felt freeing, like you could be on the same level as this man. _What was going on? Why did he seem so normal today?_

“Are those for me?” You pointed at the flowers he held behind his back and grinned. He looked a little caught but then, with his cheeks turning a slight pink shade, he revealed the flowers from behind his back with flourish, like a magician’s pose, as if he had been practicing the reveal for many days on end. It made you wonder who he was and what his job was. _He seemed to have been at home an awful lot the past two days and you had not dared to ask._

“Only the best for my sweet girl,” Arthur said, his smile still painfully wide.

You tried not to flinch as he said _girl_, for it reminded you for a moment at the vast age gap between the two of you. You still didn’t know much about this man, did not even know his age, but you could tell he was older by enough years to be noticeable. Would your parents be worried if they ever found out that their daughter had fallen into the hands of a man who was nearer to their age than to your own? You were pretty sure your father wasn’t going to like it. _Oh God,_ what if Arthur had a thing for younger women in general? What did you even know about him? He could be some kind of man who got off on the thought of defiling young students. Why did that thought unsettle you so? _Because his mind proved to be unstable? _Because you feared that if he imagined the two of you in relationship, _then what else had he imagined you to be?_ Each and every new thought brought forth more questions and more dark and disastrous scenarios.

You took the flowers from him, your hands brushing slightly, his cold skin sending an electric shock to your own.

Noticing you withdrawing into your mind, Arthur quickly took your arm and hooked it in his. “Let’s get inside, okay?”

You forced yourself to look up at him, aware how much you two looked like a couple that had been together for a long time, with arms hooked and flowers in your hand. _This is so wrong. _But what could you do? You were already in too deep to get yourself out without a struggle.

“Let’s get inside,” you agreed.

\--

Meeting with Arthur went smoother than you had anticipated. More natural. The two of you had had a drink and chatted, and it had surprised you how easy conversation between you seemed to flow. Your former fears were somewhat eased as during the time you spent with him in public, Arthur seemed to treat you like an equal, a friend even.

He was normal now, emitting a certain warmth and comfort. You didn’t hear his painful laugh, didn’t see him start a fit of chuckles. Instead, any laugh or cough seemed to be a honest one. Not once did he have to pull out his card and explain his neurological ailment.

You could almost believe that he was normal.

You could almost fool yourself into believing that you chose to go out with him when he was like this.

Not all went smooth though. You noticed how easily Arthur’s mood seemed to turn foul whenever you let it slip that you didn’t know him that well, and so you had to remain careful with your phrasing so he wouldn’t get too suspicious of your lack of knowledge. But despite your cautiousness, conversation with him became more and more pleasant.

You asked him about his hopes for the future, and he told you of his dreams to become a comedian. Apparently he had some practice before as a party entertainer, and had some experience doing stand-up comedian performances.

He told you his age. Said he was in his thirties, which meant the age difference between the two of you was rather steep but not as bad as you had first feared. With his frail frame and the worried lines on his face you had feared him to be older than that.

As the morning proceeded you noticed how most of his stories were about his teenaged years, working after he left school, and how well he had been looking after his mother. A mother, you slowly realised, _who was no longer in this world_. You tried to find out for how long she had been gone. Though the time of her passing was kept vague and you sometimes thought she must have died ages ago while at others times he made it sound like her death was just a few meagre days ago.

That there had not been a father since his childhood he said in a whisper, after which he pressed his lips into a thin line as a sign he did not want to talk about it any further. You made a mental note that the_ dad _thing was something huge to him, probably traumatic, and you had to tread the topic with ease – if you ever felt the need of bringing it up again, that is.

He, in turn, asked you about your future hopes. G_ranted, _he sort of kept insisting that you told him this until you finally relented_._ And so you reluctantly told him of your dream to go to university, to study and become a scientist, or find a profession in which you could save lives, build a stable live with a steady income, make a career before you settle down. He was watching you intently, his green eyes fixed upon you while he toyed with the coaster that had been on the table to support his coffee cup. You saw the little round cardboard coaster twist between his fingers, sliding back and forth, and focused on that rather than the judging look that lay deep within those emerald eyes.

You told him about your childhood, your friends, the joy your job gave you. And after you had talked for a while you both agreed on a time to meet again the next day, then walked back to Arthur’s house together and ended up in another passionate embrace.

_Because Arthur would not easily let go of you._

His strong hands were on your waist, holding you firm, as his green eyes searched yours, darkening and sobering as he looked at you with an unspoken question. The eagerness and need you had seen in them those two days before returned, and as you parted your lips to breathe, he ducked his head down to capture your lips with his, pressing your body flush against him so you could feel his hardness against your lower region.

It was a pattern that repeated itself that weekend. Talking, fucking, and doing it all over again.

Your body, once sore after the very first times he had taken you, started to grow used to his presence.

Thinking of him slowly turned out to be enough to start the tingling in your groin and make you squeeze your thighs together. And the fear of meeting Arthur slowly ebbed away and transmorphed into a certain need to see him again, to feel his hands upon your body, to smell his scent as you buried your head in his neck while he drove into you without mercy.

Whenever he made love to you_ \- and _he_ preferred to call it love-making rather than just plain sex - _you noticed how _touch-starved_ he was, and how hungry to reciprocate your affection. And in just a few days’ time, it didn’t matter any longer that the affection you bestowed upon him had grown out of necessity and fear. It didn’t matter any longer that you had said you loved him as a lie. That you had let him use your body because you didn’t know how to fight him off. That his demeanour had been so puzzling to you that you had not known how to respond to his actions but with playing along.

Many fears were still inside you, but he was slowly making you forget them._ Oh_, and you _did forget_ them _mostly_. To feel his hands hot on your hips, firmly keeping you in place as he thrust harshly but with passion. How could you not?  
  
But despite your growing acquaintance - _or was it friendship? was it more?_ – with Arthur Fleck, some fears remained in the back of your mind. _Be careful how you approach him, be careful not to deny him anything, be careful not to spoil his fantasies._

And by cheer luck you hadn’t run into Sophie as you followed Arthur home on those weekend days.

Going back to work on Monday, you knew you should not have been surprised that Arthur already knew about the hours you worked and when you would be done, or even that he was expecting for you to knock on his door after you left Sophie’s.

Although, to be fair, you considered not to knock and just go home. The weekend had left you sore but satiated. Your pussy still thrummed softly from four days of sex. Your breasts were sensitive. Inexplicably, your hunger for Arthur seemed to be growing.

So your mind was torn. Arthur had been in your thoughts when you played with Gigi, as had the consideration of ignoring his request of visiting him, which was bound to end in more intimacy between the two of you. You could safe yourself the soreness and the growing Stockholm Syndrome symptoms if you just head home.

After you left Sophie’s and waited for her to have closed the door, you stepped to Arthur’s apartment. Your fist hovered mere inches away from the wooden door of Mr Fleck’s apartment, hesitating although you knew leaving would be futile. He knew where you lived, who your parents were, your schedule. He seemed to know it all. He had let it slip several times that he had been shadowing you around town, enough suspicions and evidence to report him to the police _– if they ever really did something against shady men following young women around_. And no matter how your feelings slowly changed towards him, your fear of him knowing so much and being so obsessed with you would probably _never fade_. You might not be highly educated, but you were not stupid. And your mind provided you with enough alarm bells since you had first seen Arthur.

_Also,_ it _hadn’t helped_ when Arthur opened the door before you could decide whether to knock or scamper. Of course. He probably had been waiting for you, possibly peering at you through the peeping hole in his door.

_Your name,_ not whispered but spoken with delight, as Arthur stood in the doorway. His white blouse crinkled, his wine-red waistcoat giving some colour to his frame. His brown hair was slicked back. _Oh, he had put in some effort indeed._

Resigning to your fate, you chose to play along and stepped past him into the apartment. The curtains drawn, sunlight flooding the place. It actually looked nice when not flooded with eerie red or blue lights from the television, or the lamps switched on like they had been Saturday and Sunday. The room was still pungent with the scent of cigarette smoke, despite Arthur not holding a cigarette between his fingers. You were only a few steps in when he called you back with a small “uh-uh!”

As you spun around on your heels, you came face to face with a grinning Arthur.

“Now would you just enter your boyfriend’s home without giving him a kiss?”

_Boyfriend_, it still sounded so odd. At no point had he asked you _“hey, want to be my girlfriend?”, at no point had he asked to make things official_. They just were, before you even _knew him._

_Good God, this situation was twisted._

You complied with a small smile and tiptoed over to him to place a kiss on his lips. They were soft underneath yours, chapped but surprisingly warm and delicate. The taste of him had grown familiar to you, his lips a much more innocent part of his body that you had touched. Your tongue explored his lips, like his did yours, and then it was over. The kiss wasn’t chaste, neither was it hungry. It just was, and you’d grown accustomed to it.

Unbelievable how, in just four days’ time _– five if you counted today as well-_ you had grown familiar with this man’s body and his habits. Your hand tangled in his hair, then slipped down to cup his cheek. A silly gesture that allowed you a bit more grip on him as you ignited another kiss, more like a quick peck on the lips, but one that had him laughing softly once it had ended and you withdrew from him.

He was almost like a normal man.

As Arthur closed the apartment door behind him, you placed your bag on the same table it had been on ever since you first entered his apartment five days ago. You actually felt as if you made yourself _at home_, despite how new and strange everything still was.

You slipped out of your coat and placed it over one of the chairs before you turned to face Arthur. Your scarf followed, but as you were watching Arthur, you didn’t see how it slipped down your coat and off the chair, onto the carpet on the floor.

Arthur was already stood near the couch, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. By the sight of the teabag you could tell that it was the brand you had told him you liked the most. _How thoughtful of him_.

He set the cup in front of you on the small table between you, taking his own cup of coffee from it in one sweeping movement, and then let himself sink onto the couch. He leaned his left elbow on the couch’s edge, resting his head against his fist as he looked at you with a boyish, almost innocent look. But it was a look like he was trying to discover something, gauging you for something you did not know what it was.

And so you quickly grabbed your cup of tea and with a whispered ‘thank you’ you sat down on the couch next to him, blowing your tea in an attempt to make it cool down quicker. You would have had preferred to sit on the chair, further away from him. But you knew that if the distance between the two of you was too large, Arthur would make a point out of it. And you didn’t want him to become upset so early on, you had just arrived.

Being this close, you could smell his scent: sweat, cigarettes and cologne. You could see his right leg jitter up and down and worried that his cup of coffee would fall, but as your eyes darted towards his hand, you noticed he held the saucer in a firm grip, resting it, on the non-bopping leg. His grip on the saucer seemed surprisingly sturdy.

_Then again, his grip was very sturdy whenever he held your hips as he drove himself deep inside of your -_

“Checking me out already?” He teased, and your eyes quickly snapped up to meet his. He had to turn away, laughing at his own joke. _Well, your eyes had been at crotch level, but still…_

You knew you must be turning red, but luckily Arthur quieted down and you felt your embarrassment fade. “I was afraid your coffee would spill,” you said, truthfully, before blowing some of the steam off your cup.

Arthur’s grin grew. He was still looking at you with that studying gaze, as if he was trying to decipher you. But what was it he was trying to find out about you? And why?

“If it worries you I could put it back on the table,” he teased.

“Please.” You were actually surprised when he complied and placed the cup and saucer back on the table in front of you. You followed the gesture and placed your cup of tea next to his cup of coffee. Not because you weren’t thirsty, but rather that you didn’t trust yourself to have such a sturdy grip as him. Not when your cheeks were red and he was obviously onto something.

You searched his green eyes as he set back in the same position as before, cheek balancing against his left fist, right arm placed between his stretched legs.

“What is it?” You heard yourself ask. “What are you thinking?”

“Just you, you’re still so young. Like a flower, with such pretty petals, only just seeing the sun. You’re only just blossoming.” He chuckled slightly, “and I got to be the lucky guy to spread those petals, smell them, kiss them, to pluck this flower.”

You grimaced. “Ugh, what a vile metaphor.”

“You don’t like me being the one who holds your flower? Who plucked the stem between my fingers and then,” _snap._

Your breath halted in your chest as you watched him._ Something was off about him today._ His description of plucking a flower bordered to violent. And it sent a shiver down your spine_. Flower - deflowering._

Ever since Friday, he had not mentioned your first sexual encounter with him again. He had let it slip those first two days that he had imagined himself in sexual positions with you many times before it actually happened for the first time. And you had never corrected him in his beliefs.

Had he realised that Thursday has been the day he had actually deflowered you? Surely, that must be it._ Why else would he use such a metaphor out of the blue?_

He must have seen the fright on your face, for it made him chuckle. He reached out with his right hand to you, gently tracing a knuckle down your cheek until his fingers were on your chin. You didn’t know what to say.

“No matter who watched the flower grow first,” he continued, “I got to be the one to pluck her.”

_Vile._ Your eyes flew up to his and you pressed your lips into a thin line.

“You picked her first,” you murmured, and something in his eyes changed. The distant gaze and glazed-over look seemed to fade as you said that and he straightened his spine, looking up at you with slight surprise on his face. Perhaps you had been wrong in your assumptions about him. _Shit_. You really had to be careful with what you’d say now.

“I preferred it when you called me your kitten,” you heard yourself grouse.

_Enough with this nonsense._

“You do, don’t you?” Arthur said, sounding surprised but pleased while he nodded at you. “Good thing you do because so do I,” he paused, deliberately, parting his lips as he watched you for your reaction. To your credit, you just stared at him with a frown, and he let out a soft laugh. “Kitten,” he teased.

“What’s gotten into you today?” You leaned forward as his hand slipped from your cheek. You leaned your elbows on your thighs, bending forward as you looked at him sideways. “Did something happen at work?”

He leaned forward as well and at first you thought it was in an attempt to mimic your stance, but then he was hiding his face behind his hands as laughter made his body convulse and tremble. Okay, nope. That was a wrong question to ask. His pseudobulbar affect hadn’t been on display as well as this for the past two days. You cringed and carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him near in an embrace with a sigh. What other choice had you?

Then you rested your head against his upper left arm while your right hand rubbed up and down his right side to comfort him.

It took him a good full minute or two before his laughter had managed to subside and he could catch his breath again. Still trembling in your arms, he cocked his head at you. “No, no, sweet kitten of mine. Nothing bad happened at work.”

“What do you actually do-”

He pressed his thumb against your lips, effectively silencing you.

“Hush, kitten, I just want to feel you.”

This was it. You knew it by the twinkle in his eyes, the way he lovingly yet beggingly looked at you, like a puppy looking up at its owner. But it wasn’t just a look of pleading, it was that familiar need again. The need to belong, to not be alone, to be accepted and to be loved.

And with his thumb still on your chin he leaned forward, capturing your lips with his own.

You deepened the kiss, allowing him access between your lips and feeling his tongue flick against yours. You wanted to deny it, but the feeling of his tongue brushing against your own, your lips parted wide against his yearning ones, made you wet.

With a groan, he was upon you, laying you down on the couch. He gingerly undressed you, taking off your panties with both his hands, his thumbs hooked around the fabric, sliding it off whilst bestowing you bare shins with kisses.

He played you with his mouth, showering you with butterfly kisses against your thigh while he pushed his hand against your abdomen to keep you down, your back flat on the couch as you twisted and moaned when his mouth travelled higher.

Then his tongue, skilled and apt, twisted and curled around your sensitive nub, licking stripes down your core, slurping the wetness that pooled between your legs like a tasty delight.

You could see his brown-haired head bob up and down between your legs, reached for him, but only managed to curl your fingers in his hair before he had pushed you down to the couch again.

Your body shivered and shook from pleasure, heat building in your core as you could not block out the slurping wet sounds of his tongue and lips as he sucked your bundle of nerves. You gasped, tried to bite back the sounds of pleasure, arched your back as much as his hand on your tummy would allow you, and tried to look down at him, only seeing your bare breasts, your shirt pushed underneath, pushing them up, your nipples peaked with arousal, and you gasped even more.

He was eating you out and it felt wonderful. Your orgasm was building, approaching rapidly. Your legs trembled but he kept them apart. A rustle of cloth, buttons being undone, and the soft stroking of a hand against flesh.

But you hardly noticed as the pleasure kept building inside of you. His tongue twisted deep inside, his hand leaving your tummy, and then a finger was inserted into your core, moving slowly at first and then faster and deeper until the whole knuckle was in.

The finger was joined by another. Arthur’s tongue twisted into you, joined his hands. You tried to grab for the fabric of the couch, anything underneath you that could give you leverage, but your fingers kept slipping away.

You moved your head from left to right and bit your lip to keep from crying out, thrashing underneath him, feeling your orgasm was near.

And then, _oh-_ and _then_, just the moment when you _peaked_, he _pushed_ himself _inside_. Full. You were full all of a sudden. He had pushed inside of you without warning, his throbbing member easily slipping deep inside because of your juices. And to c_ome_ with his cock being pushed into your core, it felt like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You gasped and reached for his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life as he started to thrust while you were still on your high.

Your fingers dug into the crinkled white fabric of his blouse. He was still mostly dressed, his trousers hastily pushed to his hips as he moved inside of you. In and out and in and out at a fast pace. His thrusts were hard, unforgiven and hungry. And you let him pound you because it felt so good.

Once your orgasm seemed to subside, you could already feel another one building. You bit your lip, gasped Arthur’s name, pleaded for him to be gentle while he was not.

But he merely grinned at you, his forehead resting against yours as he sought your eyes and slowed his pace.

“Want me to go easy on you, kitten?” _Oh, that sultry voice._ He was enjoying this. And your own throat felt swollen and dry, your voice creaked as you tried to speak but nothing came forth but another plea and his name.

“I think you’re lying,” Arthur croaked, a chuckle escaping his lips as he gave a deep thrust, his cock bumping painfully rash against your cervix, taking you a little off your high. “I think,” another firm thrust, another moan from your lips, “You need me,” another thrust, another plea for him to be gentler, “to fill that pretty little cunt of yours with cum,” Arthur finished his sentence, finally coming to a halt.

He brought his hand to your cheek, lifting your face and forcing you to lock eyes with him. “You can tell me, it’s okay. I’ll gladly give you my cum. I’ll gladly paint your lovely womb with my seed. And there’s loads and loads of it,” and as he said those final lines he suddenly started pounding you again, his pace increasing, his thrusts deep and painful. But in an odd twisted way, the pain of his cockhead hitting you so deep inside, bruising your cervix, was turning into pleasure, and before you knew it, you were having another orgasm.

Your back arched from the couch, your breasts were pressed against Arthur’s chest. He wrapped his arms underneath you, encircling them around your back, moving you up and down in a few more brutal thrusts while your body was convulsing around him. Your pussy was pushing and pulling his cock with all might, milking him dry. And it worked. His hot semen shot into you. You could feel it deep down inside, coating your insides, a feeling that had been foreign only five days ago and now started to feel like an addiction.

_By God, how much you loved the feeling of Arthur tainting you._

As you caught your breath, you noticed how Arthur had laid you down on the couch and was next to you. You had felt his cock slip out of you and as you turned your head to look at him, you caught him staring at your neither regions with a morbid fascination as he watched his cum leak out of your cunt.

“Arthur,” you started, pushing yourself up on your elbows, but Arthur hushed you and gently pushed you back down until you were lying again.

“I just want to watch,” he said, voice soft again.

Who was this man who in one moment seemed to be the perfect date, the perfect boyfriend, a picture of innocence, and the next…. He would be the complete opposite. All his innocence lost.

You waited for him to finish watching. You’d brought your hand up to your lips and nipped at your finger, uncertain what to do. You thought about him, about what he made you feel, about what happened. You thought about having to go to work again tomorrow and the outfit you’d best be wearing. You thought about having to face your parents tonight, knowing full well you’d lied to them about finding a second job, joining them at the dinner table with the feeling of Arthur’s cock still between your legs – just as it had been the past four days.

Unknowingly, you’d closed your eyes while in thought. Your body had started to relax.

You could feel Arthur’s fingers at your thighs, spreading your pussy lips as he presumably watched the last of the drops of his cum and your arousal drip out of you. Then, he ran a finger up your slit, making you shiver, before you felt him gently put your panties back on your person. He was helping you dress, and you let him, compliantly sitting up when he asked you to and moving your limbs in the ways he desired.

Once you were dressed and his trousers were buttoned again, he sat next to you and placed his hand on your knee. You looked at each other, your cheeks still hot and flushed. A small smile curled his lips.

“We still have a bit of time,” he reasoned, his eyes darting towards the clock as did your own. Once you looked back at him, you saw him staring at you again. “How about we drink our tea and coffee and perhaps do a little dance?”

“A dance?” You nearly stuttered. You did not know he danced or liked music.

“Yes,” Arthur said, the word pronounced languidly. He spread his left arm, his fingers elegantly reached in front of him like a graceful professional dancer. “I do dance. And I’m quite good at it, if I do say so myself.” He looked at you again and smiled sheepishly. “Would you indulge me?”

He already stood up and offered you his hand, expecting for you to take it. But you made an error, sat dumbfounded at this newfound knowledge for just a moment too long. When you looked up at smiled at him, and reached out your hand to grab his, you had already been too late. He had noticed that this was not his mind’s creation. You had reacted wrong.

You reached for his retracted hand. “I’d love to,” you said in an attempt to ease his worry. But there was already a deep frown on his face. Were you too late?

Swiftly, you stood up. A bit too fast perhaps. Your cervix twitched painfully inside, your pussy throbbed, and you winced and could not help but topple over, pressing your arm against your abdomen. “I’m sorry,” You apologised as the pain ebbed away. Your movement had been too fast, too unexpectedly for your tired and sore body.

You straightened your spine and held out your hand again, reaching for his which now hung limply next to his body. “Show me how well you dance,” you said. It was a good attempt, very convincing if you said so yourself.

But there was worry etched on Arthur’s face as he watched you. Still, you took his hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on,” you tried, but he had not moved yet.

“You’re hurt,” Arthur finally said. It was as if the realisation had been new to him, as if he had not noticed before that his treatment of you left you sore.

“It’s nothing,” you laughed nervously, trying to wave his words away. “Just a bit sore after our love-making.”

Arthur smiled faintly at that. You had not called what you did love-making before. He had. Using his vocabular seemed to work, or so you thought, as he squeezed your hand in turn and, still smiling, drew you in all of a sudden. He placed his free hand on your back, guiding your body against his, holding you in a classical dancing pose. His body was warm against your own and you felt your breath halt. His green eyes looked into yours. He’d been doing that a lot today, studying your eyes. But what had he hoped to find in them?

His hand slipped lower on your back, his fingers resting on top of your butt. You thought they would stay there, perhaps squeeze you at a certain point, as you expected for him to start the dance. But he surprised you when his hand slipped even lower, lifting your skirt and turning you around.

You gasped while he leaned forward. His smile fading, his lips twisting downward in displeasure while a deep frown appeared again on his face as he studied your thighs.

“This is more than sore,” he started, voice nasal and heavy with emotion. Was he feeling sorry for you?

“I- er…”

“Don’t deny it, love. I hurt you. I bruised you.”

Had he not noticed that before, you wondered? But you bit your lip and remained quiet. Just shyly watched him as he studied the bruised skin of your thighs where he had held you each and every day for five days in a row.

“I just,” his voice cracked and he looked up at you. Big puppy eyes brimmed with water. _Was he going to cry?_ You didn’t know what you would do if he did. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t,” you lied. “You would never hurt me, Arthur.”

“Ah, but this,” his fingers strayed on the bruises on your hip. Nasty purple spots from where his hands had held you tightly in place as he thrusted up inside of you.

You gulped. “Ah, yes…”

He looked at you, eyes filled with worry, it made your heart clench.

“Arthur, they’ll fade,” you reassured him. Your heart was racing, beating heavily and fast within your chest. What would happen if this upset him? What would he do? The one thing you had discovered about Arthur in the past few days was that he was unpredictable. He was unpredictable because of his delusions. He was unpredictable because of his physique – being so much stronger than his frail person implied. He was unpredictable because he knew all about you and you knew hardly a thing about him at all. _Those marks, they’ll fade_.

He looked at you, but the worry in his eyes was replaced, like a shadow fell over them in just a mere blink. A rapid, unpredictable change that made the fear rise in your chest.

“What if I don’t want them to?” His voice was a low murmur. His finger flicked past the bruise on your hip, pressing into it a bit too firmly and making you gasp. _What the fuck? Was he taking pleasure in this?_

“Arthur?” You sounded surprised and probably scared, because you were. The change in the man had unsettled you, caught you by surprise, _again. _

“For God’s sake,” here he snarled your name through gritted teeth, voice heavy with emotion, “I want the whole world to know you belong _to me_, with me, here, by my side.”

His hands slid from your legs, falling back to his sides while your skirt fell down again, covering you decently. Arthur turned himself away from you with a high-pitched cry that scared you. _What was he doing?_

Caught up in his own emotions, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He let himself fall back on the couch. His jaw seemed locked in a painful grimace as he started to bang his fists against his chest. He winced, his teeth clenched together and wrinkles crinkling around his eyes in pain. His behaviour scared you but instead of staying at a distance or even running away, you sat down next to him, scooted closer to him to place a hand on his chest in an effort to make him stop beating himself.

“Arthur, Arthur, please,” you urged. _What had caused this bout of self-harm? What the fuck was he doing to himself?_

But your answer came unexpectedly when he turned back to you and when he grabbed your upper arms tightly. His eyes sought for yours again, small giggles of laughter escaped his lips. He was in pain, he was upset, and he was uncertain.

“You’re mine, aren’t you? My angel? My kitten? My girl? You’re truly here, aren’t you?”

_So that was it._ It was the first time that you wondered if he was aware of his own delusions? Did he know he fantasized about you? Was this his fear for everything not being real?

But then your eye fell upon the empty pill bottles and boxes on the kitchen counter, not very far away from you. On the empty boxes that littered the apartment and that for some reason, you had not noticed before until today.

_Wait._ If the apothecaries had no simple pills for birth control, then they certainly had no complicated medicine supplied to them, right?

_Oh God, was Arthur going crazy because he had run out of his medicines?_

You placed your hands on top of Arthur’s trying to ease the grip he had on you and avoid any more bruises on your person. You grit out that he should be gentle, then, as he loosened his grip on you somewhat, all you could do was reassure him, comfort him. “Yes, Arthur, I am real and I’m here,”

“Then say it,” Arthur groused, his eyes wide and wild. Like a werewolf, you thought alarmed. He looked primitive, primal. This was the first peek into the dangerous part of his soul that you now saw when you looked into his eyes. A man, unstable and uncertain, with hidden dreams and desires, who was finding out he had the power in him to make those dreams come true.

You hesitated. You saw fear in there, in those green eyes. Fear, but also strength. A dangerous combination. And you relented. “I’m yours, Arthur. _I love you.”_

“Show me,” he breathed.

And you did.

\--

Bonus

\--

You had left his apartment a few hours ago, and Arthur had been smoking ever since. His mind had been reeling. Oh, he knew of his madness, knew it caused him to self-harm, caused him to hurt others. He knew of his delusions.

But somehow, things were changing.

Perhaps it was the murder of those three guys on the subway. Perhaps it was the pleasure of taking out his mother after he had found out she had lied to him for so many years. All he knew was that the only thread he had, the only person keeping him sort of stable, was the pretty young nanny of his neighbour Sophie next door.

And she was another of his delusions.

He stood up with a sigh. Fantasy or not, you made him feel tremendously better about himself, about his life, and not to mention physically. As he walked to the door to go and check the mail – who knew, perhaps Wayne would someday reply his recently deceased mother – he halted when he stumbled upon a tiny heap on the floor.

A familiar piece of cloth that had slipped from the chair earlier on and had been forgotten in your haste to be home in time not to worry your parents.

He squatted next to it and took a deep drag from his cigarette, picking the fabric up between two fingers. He watched the material shimmer in the light of the setting sun.

When he looked at your scarf that had slipped on the carpet, his suspicions were confirmed. He now knew for certain.

_You were real._

_God,_ you were _real_. A real breathing, living person, who wanted to be with him, who cuddled him, comforted him, who allowed him to love her.

Because he knew it had started in his mind. He could just pinpoint the moment he actually laid claim on you, when he had burst into Sophie’s apartment and nearly dragged you out of there, into his own home where he took _your virginity_ forcefully on the couch.

His eyes wandered over to said couch on their own accord, spotless but he knew exactly where the two of you had been. A painful laugh escaped him, starting softly and growing in force. The blood had raised his suspicion, he would not have imagined it despite the many twisted kinks he was recently discovering he had. The odd questions about his disability had been the second thing to alert him. And when he had seen the bruises on your hips today he had known that this was not just his imagination, especially when you had not confessed that you liked to be claimed by him, but had replied that they would fade instead.

_Would fade. As if!_

You were real, and he knew it now. But that had only sealed your fate.

His laughter echoed throughout the entire building. You. Were. **Real.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Colleagues at work asked me how well my story was doing in comparison to others in the same category. I made the error of checking by the amount of words, chapters, kudos and bookmarks and comparing them to other stories in the Joker fandom. Remind me not to listen to my colleagues again.  
Hope you enjoyed though <3 There's more in store for you. And if anyone fancies creating a cover image for this tale, feel free. I would absolutely love that :)


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You worked overtime. It leads to some arguing and some comforting. But don't let Arthur's gentleness fool you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 2020 EVERYONE! May this year bring you joy, good job opportunities, a warm cosy place to live, the love you seek and - above all else- good health. Because we don't get nowhere without our minds and bodies carrying us there, right? ;)  
__

\--

**Chapter 4**

\--

It was already evening, the sky outside dark and your windows closed to block the view of any streetlights wanting to shine into your small and messy room. You were behind your desk, studying a book you’d gotten from the library in an attempt to school yourself, when you heard the sound of a bin tumbling over.

Then, the creaking of your window.

_Huh_, _you had closed it_, _hadn’t you?_

As you looked up you saw the curtains billow before you realised they were pushed aside by a lean man’s arm clad in yellowish-brown fabric. And in came Arthur.

You sat staring at a him for a moment, forgetting to breathe while your mind raced. _What was he doing here?_ The feeling that you knew exactly what you’d done to bring this about crept up inside you, enforcing the thought that you had brought this upon yourself. _You knew exactly why he was here._

And then you rushed over to his side to help him stand up and dust him off. The curtains fell closed behind him. You could hear the traffic sounds coming from the streets below, smelled the stench of the city as your window was left ajar.

He was really here. In your room.

_You’re mine, aren’t you?_ he had asked you only a few days ago. And afterwards, he had made it a point to show up more frequently, to be by your side whenever time allowed, even when you were at work at Sophie’s he would show up. And _yes_, he had even taken to walking you home to your house after spending some time over at his place after work. But he had been discreet about it. He knew your parents didn’t know about him and he respected the choice that you wanted to tell them yourself.

You recall that the one time you’d spoken about it in full with Arthur, it hadn't gone down very well. He had grabbed your wrists tightly in his hands, had gritted his teeth, and had told you that you didn’t need your parents’ blessing for you to be together with him. You just were. And wasn’t that enough?

But despite the shitty situation at home, you could not help but care about your mom and dad. And thus, you had told him that they were your parents and what would he say or do if you’d been his daughter running of with a man twice her age? He had let go of your hands at that and remained silent, suddenly withdrawn into his mind and thinking deep. You had let him, had sat down on his couch and waited for his mind to quiet down and his attention to be brought back to this world. It took him a while before he had sat down next to you. He had gently placed his arm behind your shoulders. And though his eyes were still off, as if his mind was still elsewhere, he had sat with you quietly and you had felt his body calm down.

_Yeah, how would he feel if you’d been his child coming home telling him she’d been raped by a guy who could have been her dad and who, on top of it all, had severe mental issues._ But you bit your tongue and kept yourself from speaking your thoughts while you watched some shitty programme on the telly.

Eventually he had turned to you and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. Then he had said, “I think I know what I would do if someone like me would have tried to take my daughter on a date.”

You decided not to comment on the fact that it was more than just a date between you. Instead, you tried to give him a soft smile to encourage him to go on. He did. “I will try and understand. You take your time, kitten. And I’ll make sure they won’t notice me.”

Which, as it turned out, he was excellent at. It made you wonder how many girls he might have stalked before. Were you truly the first he had forced into a relationship with him? Because he seemed so skilled at sneaking. You noticed it every time as he walked you home. The way he slunk into the shadows, even despite his yellowish-brown coat. It was as if he became invisible, just another unnamed citizen lurking in the shadows of Gotham.

He knew where you lived, had known it from before the first time he walked you there, which confirmed your earlier suspicions that he must have followed you around town. Just like he had known about your work schedule, your home situation, the names of your parents, where you’d gone to school, your favourite colour and even – this was probably the worst – the stuffed animals you still slept with.

No one should know that.

But Arthur, he knew. There wasn’t a single thing you could think of that he didn’t already know about you. From your shoe-size to your favourite food. He seemed to know it all.

But whenever you asked him about it, subtly of course, he would shut you down with a “of course I know everything about you, kitten. I love you don’t I?” And it still didn’t answer any of your questions.

You glanced up at him and saw the puppy-dog eyes he was making at you. His hands both rose at the same time to grab the sides of your head, drawing you in forcefully by your cheeks so he could place a firm kiss upon your lips. You parted your lips, opening up for him like he had taught you to do. His tongue brushed against yours and for a moment that was all there was. Tongue brushing past tongue, saliva swirling from one mouth to the other, until he broke the kiss and pulled away with a meaningful glimmer in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you started, seeing how your words squashed the hopeful look on his face. Perhaps not a good way to start with him, but then again, you were completely in your right.

His sudden presence in your room scared you. Because even though your relationship with him had become more stable and you had started to feel more and more at ease around him, actions like these shook you awake and reminded you that _no, he wasn’t just a man you actually loved and were in a relationship with._ He was mentally ill, thinking he knew you, dreaming up all that had preceded to bring you into a relationship with him. And whenever you said something that didn’t match his own fantasy about you, he’d lose that stability that made him look almost normal as a human. He would frown, he would withdraw in his mind, he would even show slivers of violence whenever that happened. And those moments, they frightened you. Even after a week or two of intense intimacy between you, you couldn’t grow used to that. His instability. His unpredictability.

You thought he probably wasn’t even aware that part of what was happening was real now, instead of his standard delusions. And in that respect, could you blame him for climbing up your drainpipe? For entering your home uninvited? It was probably some silly fantasy of his, and in fantasies one could get away with the weirdest or most illegal of all things. You assumed Arthur didn’t realise the danger of his action now that it wasn’t just a mere fantasy any longer.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, voice curt and prime. His hopeful expression upon entering had turned into a sterner one. It was clear he didn’t like the way you had received him.

“_Oh Arthur,”_ you realised just by the look on his face that things were bound to go very wrong if you didn’t give in at this point. And you could not risk it. For the man to climb up the garbage cans and probably also your drainpipe, just to enter your room on the second floor, it was too much already.

Sweat started to drip down your back just thinking of how, one meagre hallway and two paper-thin walls away, your parents were sat in the living room. Probably knitting or doing crossword puzzles. Radio switched on, thank god, but still it played on a low volume. You couldn’t even really hear their sounds in your own room, which meant you had to be careful.

You reached for Arthur’s hooked elbow with the intention of guiding him to your bed to sit down on. Apart from the chair at your desk there wasn’t much furniture left to sit upon. You had lots of boxes with papers and little trinkets, but they weren’t sturdy. Your room was tiny and thus easily stuffed with all the books and papers of assignments you hadn’t wanted to throw away, thinking them too precious for any attempt you might make to improve yourself later on, follow a course in whatever just to get a better prospect in life and aim for a better job. But Arthur moved his arm briskly away before you could even grab him.

“I know-” you tried, wishing you could explain.

But he cut you off, voice short and lips tightly clipped as he stared at you afterwards. “Don’t you want to see me?”

_Damn,_ he was playing that card again. You had to be really careful now, because your answer hadn’t been along the lines of his own fantasies and it had brought forth new possibilities in his mind that you could only guess at. He was so swift to change between these black and white thoughts. That if you didn’t say what he expected of you, he would think of the worst. What had happened to him to think that way? To always assume the worst? To think that you either loved him or despised him? What had he been through in life as he grew up?

_Truthfully, you dreaded to ever know._

“Is that it? You don’t want to see me anymore?” He groused, his green eyes getting a mean streak to them. “Because you ran off after work like that without even giving me a chance to-“

“You weren’t there,” you said, a bit too hasty. But at least it got him to quiet down. He looked at you expectantly but there was a gleam in his eyes that told you he was well aware why you’d skipped your daily meeting at his place after work. _Of course he must know_. Because _he_ wasn’t there to_ open_ the goddamn fricking door. “Sophie had me stay two hours later than usual and by the time I left I had to rush home. I knocked on your door though to tell you, but you weren’t there.”

You realised how exasperated you sounded, so eager to have him listen to you and understand. And you saw you were getting through to him, saw how his shoulders lumped and how he drooped his head as if in shame. He must know this, you thought. _He must!_

“When she asked me to work overtime I could not refuse. She promised to pay me and I need the money so much, how could I say no?” You nearly tripped over your words. “I slipped a note for you underneath the door. Didn’t you get it?”

What angered you the most wasn't his accusation for you not to be there. It was the fact that you'd been _considerate_ enough to write him a _note_ and slip it underneath his door. Who wrote a note to the man who ravished them on a daily base? You must be losing your mind.

Arthur stood in front of you in silence. As you expected. No response.

“I’m not even home for that long yet,” you concluded with a shrug, as if the fact that he hadn’t been there didn’t bother you in the least. Your voice betrayed that you did care though. You had hated the feeling in your gut when you knocked on his door and he hadn’t answered. And then a silent voice within you instantly piped up that he had grown tired of you, no longer wanted you. You had hated that little voice even more. If he ever grew tired of you, wouldn’t that be the sweet relief you’d dreamed of? The escape you’d silently wished for? To be out of his ever-growing influence? 

But instead, you bit your cheek and glanced away, trying to sound harsh, “Where were you anyway?”

“I’m,” his shoulder slumped even more, suddenly self-conscious. “I wasn’t there.”

_No shit, Sherlock_. You carefully looked up at him again to notice the change in his posture. How small he seemed to become under your words. But that posture changed when you said what you said next, “So you couldn’t wait for me?”

His head snapped up at you, his eyes meeting yours, and suddenly his back straightened again. “Oh, I have waited for you. But two _fucking_ hours, don’t you think that is a bit_ much_? It would make any man go mad.”

You swallowed, hard. _Mad._ That word rung inside your head and accompanied the alarm bells that went off with it. You hoped his interpretation of the word meant he had been angry at your for not showing up in time at his place. You hoped it meant that he had kept the door shut as some kind of twisted punishment for you being late. But now you feared that the type of mad he meant might have been of the mental kind.

“I’m sorry,” you started but he raised his hand to silence you. You expected for him to continue his accusations, to snap at you for not being there like you would have been in his fantasies. But the change in him was instant. His voice was gentler again and his eyes softened.

This time, he was the one who took you by the arm and guided you to your bed. His touch alone was enough to urge you to sit down with him, your flower-patterned covers crumpling around you and your stuffed animals toppling against each other as the bed dipped with your joined weight.

“I know you are, kitten,” Arthur’s voice was soft, as was his hand when he raised it to brush his knuckles gently past your cheek. You were glad his voice had turned to a whisper, knowing that at least your parents wouldn’t hear him like that.

“I was unfair to you. I was angry that you weren’t there and I guess I wanted you to know how much your absence pained me. It’s just,” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair nervously and you thought it was odd to see him like this without lightening a cigarette. The thought hit you that he might have forgotten to take his cigarettes with him, but then you realised how silly that was. Normally, Arthur would be smoking by now. But he wasn't. Was he being considerate for being over in your home? Or was he just being careful not to get caught? “It’s just unfair of me to put all the blame on your shoulders when you clearly did your best. I suppose it’s just your caring nature, kitten. And anyhow I can’t blame you for me being gone. I guess your absence reminded me of something about me. Reminded me I had _some matters to attend to_.”

Now that didn’t sound promising. For some reason, although Arthur seemed to have calmed down, his words kept unsettling you. When you didn’t show up and he grew restless, angry, _mad_ even in his own words, whatever did he remember he needed to do?

And so you hazarded a guess because, ever since you’d met him, you couldn’t recall him ever telling you about his daily job. And by the amount of time he had spent at home, you heavily doubted he had one. So it was a careful guess, “Your job?” You asked.

His hand fell from your cheek to rest in his own lap. He refrained from answering and just looked at the pattern on the covers of your bed instead, his brown hair drawing like a curtain around his face. _Not a good guess then._

“Arthur, please,” you quickly said while you leaned closer to him, willing him to look up at you again. When he did it was with renewed energy shining in his eyes.

“We need some kind of code,” he whispered. The gleam in his eyes showing how concerned he was. Whatever happened had done something to him, made him do something he wasn’t going to tell you. And whatever it had been, you weren’t sure if it had frightened him or pleased him. “We need a code, something so you can tell me if you’re ever going to be late again,” he looked up at you. “And I do hate it when _you’re late_.”

_So do I_, you thought, thinking of how you were impatiently counting the days to when you expected your period to come. But you bit your cheek in order not to speak your mind out loud. At least Arthur had gone on again.

“When I was waiting for you I felt like I lost control. It just slipped from my hands and I kept glancing at the clock. But by the time it was half passed five I got antsy. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I needed some fresh air, went for a stroll. Returned only a quarter past six."

You bit your lip, nearly telling him you stood in front of his door around six. If only he had stayed at home a little longer. But he already continued.

"I even thought of knocking on Sophie’s door when you still didn’t show, but when I wanted to go to the door, my foot slipped on your note and I read you had gone home. Only then I understood. I came here as soon as I could.”

“Arthur,” you started, feeling sorry for the disarray his mind caused him to be in, that such a simple act of you not appearing on the right time had him lose his calm like this. But before you could think of something comforting to say, he had reached for your face with both his hands, held your cheeks trapped within them as his eyes eagerly searched for yours.

“I don’t like this,” he said your name through gritted teeth. “I don’t like it at all when our moments together are taken from us. It makes me mad when it happens. Like real _mean mad_.”

Feeling how he was trapped in some sort of self-loathing circle of anger and misunderstanding, you decided to break it by placing your lips on his and trapping him in your arms. The action worked. You felt Arthur’s grip on you lessen while in the meanwhile his lips pressed more urgently against yours. You kissed for the second time that evening, allowed for him to wander his hands down your spine and explore your skin underneath your shirt.

When the two of you broke apart to breathe, you could see the dark demanding hunger in his eyes and frowned. If he were to take you here….

“Arthur, my parents are home. They don’t know about you yet. I’m not sure if this is such a great idea. I mean, if they hear us…” You saw his expression darkening again. “You can’t just barge in and risk them finding out about you.”

His hands left your back and he distanced himself from you. You could see the wrinkles dance on his forehead, a sign that he was in thought. He looked down at his hands for a moment before he looked up at you with a frown. “We could always tell them.”

You rolled your eyes and ran a hand through your hair. “Yes. Of course we_ need_ to tell them eventually.” You hoped you didn’t have to. And at the same time you wished you already had. There were many fears coursing through your body at having met Arthur. You placed your hand on top of Arthur’s and smiled in the hopes it would calm him. It did, by the looks of him, as he started to mirror your own comforting smile.  
  
“But let me do that when they’re calm and the mood is right," you told him in a reassuring tone. "I don’t think they will react kindly if I went in there and introduced them to the man who had just came barging into their daughter’s bedchamber.”

“No,” he said with a soft chuckle. “No, that would not do indeed.”

“See?”

“I see.”

He shifted on the bed next to you, glimpsing at you. Then he carefully scooted closer to you until your hips touched. You knew he was doing this on purpose, that he craved your touch, and so you let him.

“So what’s been going on?” You carefully asked him, unsure what to do or say next. You felt that the tension of his anger had left the room. In its stead, comfort had started to return to you. Arthur had started to relax again and he looked and sounded normal once more. Like he could have been here on a date the two of you had set – except you hadn’t and he had crept in via your window.  
  
God only knows how he would leave your bedchamber tonight. _And when_.

“Oh you know, same old, same old,” Arthur said, forcing a smile. You knew he was hiding things from you, but you decided not to press him on this. “Your day?” He asked in turn.

You let out a heavy sigh. “My father talked to me over dinner. He wants me to pursue another job. Perhaps take up another babysitter position at Mrs Christenson. My hours working at Sophie’s aren’t cutting it and we just need more funds.”

Arthur nodded in understanding, but his eyes glazed over as if he was far away. You couldn’t say for certain if he was suppressing a giggle there, but he seemed to press his lips tighter together than before. And his lips seemed to have a nasty upward curl to them.

“I do not like it,” you said, neglecting to mention how your father had been accusing you of lazing around as you seemed to be out a lot recently. Your excuse, as always, was that you went out to find a second job. But after a week or two with no results, your father heavily doubted that you were putting your back into is, so to speak. If only he knew how much of your back you put into it, really. 

_Well, unless lying on your back a lot was considered being lazy because yes, then you plead guilty as charged. Arthur had you on your back an awful lot these days._

“It would mean I would have to work even more days than the regular five,” you said with a sigh, toying with your hands in front of you absentmindedly. You didn’t hear the faint chuckle that escaped Arthur’s lips at the news. “I don’t see how I could fit that in with Sophie’s current schedule. It would mean I have to find a job offering more hours, which means I would have to work elsewhere.”

Arthur’s eyes turned upon you with fear. “You can’t do that.” Another chuckle, more rapidly now. He started to shake with each rupture his body had to endure. _Oh no._ The chuckles grew into guffaws, then into full-blown laughter. _Shit, shit, shit._ It pained your ears, even as he tried to muffle his mouth with his hands.

You scooped Arthur up in your arms, cuddling him close to your chest on the bed in an attempt to get him to calm down. Your heart beat like crazy, you could even hear it in your ears, as if it was blocking out most other sounds. Whispering Arthur’s name, you ran your hand through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. He was shaking like a leaf in your arms. His voice still painfully loud. And panic was trying to overtake you.

It must have taken only seconds, because you knew all you had time to think was _how could you be as stupid as to break something like this to him when you were trying to be quiet?_

But then you heard your father call your name. _Shit._ Of course they would hear this.

You hastily scrambled from your bed. And rushed the few steps to the door, grateful that your chamber was small and the distances short. You put your shoulder against the door in case your father would come and try to open it, angry and upset that you had no key to lock it with. The key supposedly already lost by the apartment's previous owner.

“It’s ah- a comedy show on the radio,” you shouted at the door, willing it to remain closed. You had no key to lock it. They could come in any moment.

You glanced nervously at Arthur from over your shoulder, seeing him press both his hands against his mouth as he tried to stifle the sounds of his painfully loud laughter. _No, no, no,_ don’t come in. _Please,_ don’t come in. Tears were running down his cheeks as he looked up at you. He was sorry, you could tell by the sad shimmer in his eyes. And then, he turned his head away and fell forward against your pillow, using it in an attempt to muffle the sounds.

“Make sure to put the volume down. It doesn’t sound funny to me,” you heard your father yell. _Seriously, did he take your excuse?_

Luckily, Arthur’s laughter seemed to have quieted down and he was reduced to small sobs against your pillow.

“Thanks dad, I will!” You shouted in turn, not certain whether you were grateful for your dad not coming in or for Arthur finally quieting down, or perhaps both. _God knew Arthur was old enough to be your dad anyway_.

Okay, you wished you hadn’t thought that.

You waited a few more seconds behind your door. When you deemed the situation safe enough again and heard no signs of footsteps coming from the other room, or the sound of the door handle twisting, you slowly went over to your bed again.

“Hey, hey?" you whispered, seeing how Arthur was still face-forward on your bed, his face buried deep in your pillow. You heard soft sobs escape him, saw how his body heaved with each sob you heard. Carefully you sat down next to him and placed your hand on his back to soothe him. His sobbing grew quieter until it was without a sound. Then, you traced your hand up his spine, feeling his bones underneath his clothes and skin, until your hand curled in his hair. You kept brushing your hand through his brown curls to soothe him, your fingers combing through the long greasy strands. _When was the last time he had washed his hair,_ you wondered?

He glimpsed at you. It was just one eye that you saw peeking through the curls of brown hair that had fallen around his face. But you could see it. He was slowly regaining his composure and you smiled encouragingly at him.

“I’m not sure if I will like your father,” he said, looking at you dejectedly as he finally pushed himself up from the pillow. He went to wipe his eyes with his sleeves and you sat back to give him the space to move around until he sat in a more comfortable position. It had been a close call, but you were grateful that his laughing fit was over and that your father hadn’t come barging into the room to discover him. Your heart-rate seemed to slow down again. It seemed that stroking his hair hadn’t only helped to soothe him, but it had soothed you as well.

“Of course you will,” you whispered with a small smile. “He’s my dad. He’s only trying to look after me.”

“_I_ could look after you,” Arthur suddenly said, voice as sweet as he could. He was looking at you with those darn big puppy eyed-look of his.

You sighed and ran a hand through your own hair. How different a texture it had to Arthur’s.

“I suppose you could,” you conceded. For a moment you listened for sounds of your mom and dad from the living room. But other than a soft thud or the newsreader’s low murmuring voice on the radio, you heard nothing.

Then you looked at him, at Arthur, to see him with that same shimmer in his eyes that he often held when he looked at you. _Of course._ There was one thing you hadn’t done that day and you seriously wondered if Arthur could go one day without.

Was it normal for a man to be this virile? Had his mental health something to do with this? And then a deeper, more haunting thought crept upon you. _What if he was a sex addict? _Your eyes flew wide and Arthur noticed. He rose from his position on the bed and went to stand in front of you, then placed his hands on your shoulders.

“We were both scared today. We were both shaken,” he started, his voice a whisper. He was being considerate again, was talking in a whisper to make sure your parents wouldn’t find out about his presence here.

_You wondered how long that consideration would last if he took you here and now._

With cheeks a bright red, you looked up into his eyes.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered your name. And how could you refuse when he looked at you so intently yet so heart-shatteringly soft.

He gently pushed you back on your bed but remained standing himself.

Slowly, you nodded your head, not trusting your voice if you spoke now. But it was enough for him. His hands slipped to his coat which he slid off easily. Then he started on his vest, pulling it up and over his head. Once he held his vest above his head he grinned at you triumphantly, as if he had just slain a dragon, and you had to stifle a giggle at seeing him this way.

And _oh_, how he was turning his undressing _into a show._ He swirled the vest above his head, round and round, until the piece of clothing flew across your room and landed on one of your many boxes filled with paper little nothings. He proceeded with his blouse, unbuttoning each button as if sexy music was playing in the background and you could not help but appreciate the show.

_Gosh._ When he his blouse was open and his skinny belly was revealed, he made sure to flip one side of the blouse open and close, pouting his lips as if the reveal was worth a thousand bucks. And then, when his blouse had slid down his arms while he had held them behind him, and the blouse had dropped onto your floor, he struck a pose and you clapped your hands together just once. Because then you reminded yourself you had to be quiet.

At seeing how much you appreciated his show, Arthur was upon you in just a few seconds, whispering in your ear that it was unfair if he was the only one taking his clothes off. He helped you take off your blouse with a sheepish grin. And when he hooked his thumbs underneath the clasp of your bra, you couldn’t help yourself but to ask If he truly wanted you naked. The question brought a pink flush to his cheeks before he replied “you can keep your socks on if you like.” Which brought a red flush to your cheeks in turn.

You helped him take your bra off, then watched as he danced away from you again. You fumbled with your shoes, and as you undressed yourself, your eyes remained fixed on Arthur’s dancing frame. Although there was no music, he was putting on a great show. You could almost hear the tones he must be hearing in his mind.

Arthur slowly started to move his thin hips, swaying them from side to side with that hint of a smile on his lips. “You like that, huh, don’t you?” His words were quiet, but thick of teasing.

Slowly, layer by layer was peeled off until he was left standing in just his socks. Bringing his arms up like some kind of Greek hero, he curled his hands into fists to show off his biceps and you could not help but laugh softly at the display. It was endearing to see how he was trying.

After you both had finished laughing, careful that your laughs weren’t too loud, Arthur made his way over to you and pushed you down onto the bed again. He crawled over you, placing butterfly kisses on each and every part of your skin, from your torso to your belly to your hips. He paused when he reached the purple-green fingerprints that had been left on your thighs by his thumbs and flicked his tongue over the sore spots. You flinched, but allowed his tongue to wander up your thigh until his head rested between your legs. You saw his brown hair bob up and down, felt how his tongue swirled against your clit and then delved deeper, inside. His hands only applied light pressure to your thighs, keeping them wide apart as he used his lips and tongue to bring your pussy back to life. And you grew wet. Not just by his salvia, but by your own juices as you felt your climax build.

With a sigh of disappointment, you watched Arthur retract his head before he smirked down at you. Then he positioned himself between your legs and slowly inserted the tip of his cock between your folds. You felt him, felt how he slowly pressed within you. Inch by inch.

When Arthur was all thoughtful and careful with you, making love to him could even be called fun. Because it was just that. _Making love._

Your lips parted in a silent gasp as your mind tried to remind you to keep quiet. Arthur slowly started a gentle pace. He rested his weight on his elbows which were on either side next to your body. And with each thrust he made he watched as your breasts bounced up and down.

Eventually, this got him a little too excited and his thrusts became firmer, making the bed creak and pushing you closer with your head to the wall. He slowed down when he noticed not only the sound, but also how your face had ended up between your plushies.

“Careful,” he laughed softly as he moved your favourite stuffed animal out of the way before he took you by the hips and pulled you away from the wall again.

Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be having sex between your own stuffed animals. The stuffed animals that had always been the heroes of your childhood. They had been the toys that made you feel safe as a child, and to be honest even now, as a teenager. One might argue that you were getting too old for such dolls, nearly reaching your twenties, but they still felt like safety to you. Or well, they did until now. Because you weren’t safe in your own bed any longer. Not when Arthur could pin you down and make sweet-love to you between them. You tried not to look at your favourite plush animal and instead focused on the feeling of Arthur’s gentle but firm thrusts deep between your legs.

That feeling of an orgasm rolling in soon came closer again. It had ebbed away a bit after Arthur’s tongue had left you and had been replaced by his cock. But now that his hands had found your breasts, you felt the feeling of another orgasm build again deep inside of you.

You panted, your lips open again, and watched Arthur as his green eyes darkened with lust and his gaze slid to your parted lips. As expected, he dived forward, capturing your lips with his own and engaging you in another battle of your tongues. It somehow was what you needed to bring you over the brink and your body spasmed around him.

You peaked, quicker than you had expected, with Arthur following you up close.

He groaned, his hips stuttered, and then you felt his cum deep inside of you before it started to flow out.

“Oh, oh, doll,” he moaned as he withdrew from your body, unintentionally sending a shiver down your spine at the choice of his pet name for you. “That was _so good.”_

You squeezed your eyes, blocking out the sight of your room. Your chest heaved up and down rapidly and you just knew without watching that he was staring at your boobs. _Yep, there was his hand again,_ gently resting upon your left boob and confirming your suspicions. For a man who was as unpredictable as he was, some things he was very predictable in. Such as things like this. With sex.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly and you heard how he joined you in that, chuckling along close to your ear while he gently squeezed your breast in his warm hand.

“Never thought I’d be fucked in my own bed,” You said, quickly biting your tongue before you could finish that thought out loud. _Perhaps by a silly boy I chose to date_. _Not by a man I didn’t even invite in._

But Arthur didn’t notice you had more to go along with that sentence, and instead, he flipped to his side and chuckled again. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he said.

You carefully opened an eye again and looked at him. The scent of sweat and sex was clouding the air around you and you were grateful Arthur had left your window ajar. You hoped the scent would be out before your parents would come walking in, hopefully the next day and not tonight.

You looked at Arthur and could see his hand was tracing down his own body. And now the other hand left your boob to search for something too. By the shaking of his arm, you imagined it must be his cigarettes. You’d seen him smoke so darn often. Going without for the time he now had must have been difficult for him. 

“Hey, you okay?” You asked him, rolling to your side and wincing when you rolled into the mixture of your slick. You had to remind yourself to clean the sheets before your mom or dad could do it for you, or else you’d be in deep trouble.

His lips twitched into a small smile and he instantly stopped fiddeling. “Yes, never better.”

“Good,” you mumbled. You watched him get off the bed and search for the clothes he had strewn about the place. He dressed himself while you watched, then came over to you and took out a tissue he seemed to have found inside his vest’s pocket.

“Open up,” he said, and you spread your legs for him to wipe away some of the cum that was still at your entrance, though most of it had sprawled upon your sheets, _you were certain of it_. But you decided not to comment on it. After all, Arthur was trying his best at taking care of you, like he had promised.

Once he deemed you cleaned up, he helped you into your pyjamas and sat down with you on the bed again. He picked up your favourite plush which had fallen over earlier on and placed it on his lap to study it.

“I think this one likes me,” he said, and you raised a brow.

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, he’s smiling at me, see?" He wiggled the stuffed animal on his lap whilst grinning down at it. It was almost endearing. "Or she, I’m not certain about the gender of these things.” It was a bizar experience to see the grown man who had lain claim on you wiggle your favourite childhood doll around. And another painful reminder that nothing you had was left sacred in his presence. Arthur knew all about you. And there was little of you he hadn't touched yet. _Not even your favourite childhood doll_.

“You never had a plushie at home?” You asked.

Arthur looked up at you and his gaze alone said enough. _Ouch._ He had probably missed a lot in his youth.

You decided to quickly change topics. But then your eyes caught sight of your clock and you swallowed. _Shit, that late already?_ “Will you be going home soon? If my parents still see a light on after nine thirty…” Something to do with saving electricity and the bills and so on.

“I will be gone before then,” Arthur said, glancing at the clock which said it was five passed nine. He gently helped you lie down on the bed. "Before I go I just want to talk to you,” he sounded bashful as he lay down next to you. “Is that okay? Just talk?”

“Sure,” you said, a little dumbfounded. You often talked before or after intimacy. If you had to be honest you often liked the conversations you had, whether about the news, society or philosophical topics. Arthur’s mind worked on a different level than yours and these moments provided you with a careful insight of how his brain worked. “Go ahead.”

“I just love to hear your voice,” Arthur murmured, cuddling behind you and scooping you in his arms. His face was close to yours, his lips brushing the skin underneath your ear as he whispered to you. “I could listen to it for ages.”

“I hope you won’t make me speak for ages though,” you retorted with a huff. You placed your hands on his arms, keeping him trapped around your body whilst you tried to look up at him from over your shoulder. “Especially not like this," you went on in a hushed voice. "All this whispering is strenuous.”

He chuckled softly.

“And we must be quiet, I know,” he then said, his breath hot upon your skin. The faint but ever persistent smell of cigarettes reached your nose. “Lest your father thinks you’re listening to those _boring_ reports on the radio.”

“He already must be thinking I am.”

You could feel Arthur’s arms tighten just slightly around you at that. Then you heard his joking voice, “I could give you tomorrow’s weather forecast.”

At this point you wouldn’t even mind to listen to him monotonously ratling off boring weather forecast facts whilst fatigue claimed you. You felt your eyes become heavy and felt how your body relaxed in his hold.

“Appealing as your plan sounds, how would you benefit of it? Because if you did that, I'd be the one listening to you,” you replied with a faint grin. “And I recall you saying something about the charm of my voice."

“Clever girl,” Arthur said with a chuckle. “That would not do at all, as I like to hear your voice, not my own.” For a moment you heard nothing but his tongue licking his lips as he was thinking. Then, “All right. Let’s talk about something else. As we started about boring news, have you been listening to the news recently?”

You hummed. “Sure. I have been trying to follow it lately. Need to know which parts of Gotham are safe and which are not. Especially when I go about town with Gigi.”

You expected a reply from Arthur of some sorts, feeling that he might ask you about whether you felt safe or not, especially with the way he had started to walk you home. Perhaps this was the time you would discover whether he did that out of curtesy or out of jealousy – or the fear that some other bloke would get his hands on you. What with the riots and all, the streets of Gotham had gotten unsafe territory. _As far as they already hadn't been._ But the unrest in Gotham spread like a virus. Even if your neighbourhood was relatively fine, it was just a matter of time before the bad folks would get here too. Unless the government came up with a solution to stop them. You inwardly chuckled. _Yeah, good luck with that_. Unless Wayne finally changed his ways, or people got rid of him, then Gotham was likely to stay the corrupt city it had been for the past few years.

Arthur’s reply was quicker than your own words had gone, and he was already drowning out your last sentence with a new question of his own.

“What do you think about those murders on the subway?” he asked, looking at you innocently.

_Ah yes, those subway murders_, you thought. You’d heard about them. Sophie had flipped her lid over them, saying how Gotham was going down the drain for real this time. Those people had been shot by someone wearing a clown mask, it was said. Now you didn’t know what you thought to be scarier, the idea that someone could randomly come up to shoot you, or that people were now running through the city dressed as clowns. Because you’d been rather scared of clowns in the past._ Coulrophobia,_ or something it was called. Only in recent days had you managed to rationalise your fear for them and then this had to happen. _Just great._

But the way Arthur’s voice had overpowered yours made you think his mind must have been set on something before he broached the subject. It must have been something that he deemed important, something you needed reply to in the right way. But what was the right reply, if you didn’t even know what his mind was truly focused on?

You bit your lip and looked up at the ceiling, giving it a good thought.

“I don’t know. I can’t say for certain because I wasn’t there,” which was a good start because it was honest and vague at the same time. You tried to gauge him for a reaction, but he was quiet behind you. His arms still applying the same amount of pressure, comfortably pressing you against him. His breathing was still steady. “It is a fearful thought that a clown could come at you in the subway and kill you, out of nowhere,” you then said.

You felt his arms tighten around you at the word clow. Arthur took a moment to muse about your answer before he replied, “I don’t think the clown would kill you.” Which was sweet of him. You certainly hoped no clown would jump on top of you to end your life. That would be a nightmarish way to go. Then again, with Arthur nearly constantly guiding you across the street, it would be hard to find a moment for the murder clown to do so. _Perhaps in the mornings when you were on your way to Sophie’s, _you thought. You were left unchaperoned then.

You flashed a smile at him, turning your head to find he was looking down at you with his intense green eyes focused on your lips. “Even so, to murder someone…” your voice trailed off for a moment. “I don’t think I could ever _not_ condemn such an action.”  
  
Arthur’s lips twitched downward. Not in a smile, and not for very long. It was just a short moment but you had caught the sign of displeasure. _Uh-oh_.

“Perhaps they got what they deserved?” Arthur’s voice was raised and you flinched. What if your mom and dad heard? But Arthur saw your reaction and immediately quieted down again. His hand reached for yours and he took it in his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he leaned closer to you. You felt his lips brush past your cheek, gently placing a kiss there, and then up to your ear. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

How _sweet_ he sounded, how _caring._ You closed your eyes and did not stop him when he wrapped his arms around you once more, holding you in a comforting embrace similar to the one he had held you in only moments before. The two of you rocked gently, left to right and back to the left again on the bed. It was a comforting gesture and you felt your eyes grow heavy. They slid to your clock. A quarter past nine. How time could fly when you weren’t doing much else than cuddling and talk.

“It’s fine,” Arthur whispered to you, “we’re good.”

But you weren’t quite sure what he meant when he said that you were good again. Had you said something that had been wrong?

You rested your head against his chest, basking in his scent as it calmed your nerves. Your hands curled in his vest, holding him close.

“I have to go,” Arthur breathed near your ear. You replied with a groan against his chest before you reluctantly let go of him. He shifted away from you with a sigh and you watched him sit up on the bed, ruffling his hair before he pushed himself off. He elegantly pushed the curtains aside with just the back of his hand before he looked over his shoulders at you with a grin.

You smiled back at him and blew him a kiss which he pretended he caught and then placed on his cheek. He took his time to pretend to blow you an even larger one before he vanished out of your window. You subdued the urge to go and watch him climb down, too scared that something might go wrong if you were to distract him.

With your knees pulled up to your chest you sat on your bed and waited till the tell-tale sound of your bins rattling signalled Arthur had arrived on the ground. You thought you heard a soft “I love you” coming from underneath your window, and then when everything grew quiet again, you rested your cheek on your knees and sighed.

You could not help it, but in an inexplicably odd and twisted way, _paradoxically really,_ Arthur’s instability seemed to give you a form of stability in this unhinged society. A stability and reassurance you’d been long seeking.

And it felt _wonderful._

\-- ** --

~Bonus~

\-- ** --

Watching you enter the schoolyard with Gigi on your hand, Arthur carefully stepped closer to the wired fence and rested his hooded head against it. This was what he loved to see. You, hand in hand with Sophie’s child. It seemed so natural. So perfect. _Well, almost_ perfect if he had to admit it.

What would make it all perfect would be if that child would have his brown hair or his green eyes. It was a realisation he had upon seeing you helping Gigi into the elevator the first time he ever saw you. The realisation that you would be perfect for him. Yet at the same time, he had never fantasized about a future with someone before, not as detailed as he had now. Could he do it? Be a parent? Fantasizing about it scared him, and so he silently stowed the thought away in the back of his mind for another time. He went back to enjoying the sight in front of him. The way you bestowed your motherly affections on his neighbour’s daughter was a joy to behold. Caring about others suited you well.

_Whoops,_ your head moved sharply in his direction, unexpectedly. He took a step to his right, hiding even more behind the pole of the fence than he had before. Carefully, he peeked around the frame again to see how you were squatted now, sitting at eye-level with Gigi as you smiled and talked to her. And she was talking back to you, smiling as well. An endearing conversation. _If only he could hear what was being said._

He slowly took a step back to his left again, having a better view of you from here whilst still being covered by the fence. He was fairly certain that you hadn’t seen him, as you hadn’t seem to have spotted him the many times he has done this before. He loved tracing your steps through Gotham. Whether it was you getting groceries, dropping Gigi off or picking her up, or even just when you walked home. At least that last thing was something he shared with you now. Since you two had got together for real, it had only taken a few days before he had convinced you that it would be safer if he walked you home. And you let him. So he did. Openly. Not as secretly like he had done before. But still careful enough not to be spotted by your mom and dad.

Gigi gave you a hug, then bounded into the school. Arthur watched as you got up again and watched her go. Then you dusted your hands past the skirt of your dress which stuck out from underneath your coat, probably to smooth it down and to make sure it hadn’t ridden up.

The way you glanced around, he wondered if you somehow could feel his intense gaze upon you. Were you looking around for him? Or was that just him hoping you would?

But then you looked in the opposite direction of him again and started to walk away.

He knew this was his cue to leave as well, and so he swiftly turned on his heels, crossed the road after he made sure no traffic came from either side, and quickly darted into one of the crowded side-streets so you wouldn’t be able to spot his brightly coloured coat as easily.

Sometimes he wondered how you would respond if you would notice him. Would you think him a freak like so many others? You said you loved him, and he believed you. Yet, there were times when you seemed doubtful in his presence. You didn’t want your parents to know about him, and why not? Wasn’t he good enough for you? Were you ashamed of being with him? You hadn’t liked the murders he had committed on the subway either. And you didn’t seem too keen on his jokes. And what was up with you pulling faces whenever he smoked? Or the way you looked whenever he mentioned clowns to you? What would you think of him if you found out about his past, his real former profession, his life?

What would you think if you found out he’d killed his own mother? 

A small smile curled his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live on comments and kudos.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur isn't done with you yet. But something's changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to post this chapter near the end of the month, but my finger accidentally slipped and then I saw the 300 kudos and thought, if I promised it, I should stick to it. New chapter at 300 I posted on tumblr and here it is. Next upload at 400? * insert evil smiley here * Also, read the note at the end.

  
\--

**Chapter 5**

\--

“Just give me a moment, I’ll be right there,” you eyed Gigi as she left the kitchen before you let your shoulders slump and sighed. Grateful that the child was giving you some time to clear your mind as well as the mess she’d made on the kitchen table, you started cleaning whilst listening to the comforting high-pitched voices of Gigi and her friend Jennifer as they talked and laughed in Gigi’s room.

Their bantering gave you a smile, and you leaned over the table to wipe it with a wet cloth, removing as much of the juice stains as possible. They were lovely children, but they were a wild bunch. And for the two of them to spill drinks and scatter crumbs around like they were freaking Hans and Gretel was no exception. Whenever Jennifer was here you were on cleaning duty, permanently.  
  
To think that Jennifer would be over every Friday from now on. God help you.

But at least their joyful mess-making kept your mind off matters that would otherwise keep you worrying. Matters such as the displeasure of your father for the way you only held one meagre job, and how you hadn’t found a second one yet - not that you really had any time left these days to go looking for a second job. Or the matter of how you wanted to go to university but didn’t even earn enough to keep you fed or afford a roof above your head, let alone start saving properly. So any kind of education was off the table for now. Or the matter how your life had been turned upside down recently by _one man_.

You frowned and bit your lip as you scrubbed extra hard to get a nasty splatter of sticky liquid from the table’s wooden surface. Your mind was reeling again, going off down forbidden paths of thought that you had wanted to avoid. Even when you tried to focus on the voices of Gigi and Jennifer, you still couldn’t help how your thoughts finished itself. _Such as the matter that you hadn’t seen your period coming around when you had expected it this week._ And how instead, the simple scent of your mother’s candles, or your father’s aftershave had made you want to vomit.

Damn those delivery strikes, damn those apothecaries not being supplied. Damn your body for being this fruitful – _if it truly was as you feared_.

Because how on earth where you going to hide such a thing if it was the truth? How would you keep your parents from finding out and losing their heads? How would Arthur react? You dreaded to think.  
  
Arthur's reply you could not even imagine, as unpredictable as he was. You feared he might be angry, get one of his laughing fits, due to the glimpses you had seen of his own unfortunate childhood.  
  
And your own parents? How could they be anything but mad at you? You could not imagine how they would understand what you’d been through and how it got to this. How could you, knowing how hard it was to live a reasonably decent life, take it upon you to go and do things with boys, unprotected. How could you be this stupid? _That’_s what they would say.

_Boys,_ you inwardly smiled a sour smile. _Men,_ more like. Or _one man_ in particular. One very thin, very lean man. But despite how often you had thought about telling your parents about Arthur, you hadn’t gotten around to it yet. It was the fear deep inside of you that kept you from telling them. The fear of what they would think when they already deemed you to be so weak – not being able to find a proper job, to provide for yourself, to add to society. Your mind could fill in lots of reasons why they would be angry of you or disappointed in you. For some reason, thinking of the negatives had always come easier to you than thinking of the positives.

However, if you had been your mother or father you would lose your shit over a strange man fucking your daughter. Surely Arthur must have been right in that respect when at one point he had leaned over to you and whispered during one of your love-making sessions how caring you were, how kind-hearted to others. You believed him in that. You knew that you would listen to your kid if they had a problem like this and you would go over to the man’s house and probably do something as drastic as cutting off his balls. But you were not your parents and you knew how busy they were with trying to cope with their own problems. How little they listened to your concerns and heartaches. How little you trusted them to help. But could you leave out Arthur and just tell them you suspected you might be with child? Wouldn’t that be worse?

_Oh_, you could hear their arguments in your head already, could imagine the way you had to reply to them in your defence. But would they listen? You imagined not. And could you tell them the truth? That it had not been your choice?

What use would it be if they wouldn’t listen to you anyway.

You scrubbed even harder, gritting your teeth as you willed the thought away, and ignored the sound of the front door creaking open.

As you stood scrubbing until your knuckles were sore, you heard footsteps approach, then halt near you. You didn’t need to look up to know who was standing there beside you.

“Be careful, my dear, or you might actually hurt that table,” the nasal voice jokingly said.

You looked up at Arthur, not at all too happy with the risks he was taking to see you, but already used to his presence in Sophie’s house. In the past two weeks he had made it a custom to check in on you while you were at work next door, usually stopping by around times when Sophie would not be back by long. These times usually being slightly after lunch, when you allowed Gigi free reign to play in her room while you cleaned up the dishes. How Arthur knew about this particular part of your schedule you didn’t know.

The first time he had entered Sophie’s home you nearly had a heart attack. Luckily Gigi wasn’t there to witness it, and Arthur had wrapped his arms around you and held you in an embrace until your heart had quieted down and was beating normally again. Then, as he had pulled away ever so slightly, he had smiled down at you. You had been afraid that he had come to whisk you away again, like that very first time, make you come up with an excuse and leave Gigi unattended for much too long. You feared the amount of time he would take to have his way with you, and the mess Gigi could make in all those minutes that you would be away.

You also wondered if he always had owned a key to Sophie’s apartment.

Perhaps he had been given one recently. At least you found out rather quickly that locking the door, a simple action that had made you feel safe just two weeks prior, wasn’t enough to stop him from entering. But on the positive side, you told yourself that at the very least you were now forced to combat your own fears by facing them, and if Arthur had the means to enter a locked apartment, then really, was there anything you could do to prevent him from doing so?

He was trying to be careful, you had to give him that. Gigi had miraculously missed his presence so far, nearly always being in her own room after lunch. There had been a few times when you and Gigi had been playing together when Arthur had come in, and at those times he had skidded away silently and had waited for you in the joined hallway, while you gave Gigi a task to play on her own so it would give you a few minutes alone with him.

_He appreciated that._

He made sure to let you know how much he appreciated it afterwards, by telling you and by showing you when you met him in his apartment after work was done.

You were glad that he didn’t jump your bones whenever he entered Sophie’s house. You had been scared that he would. Somehow, you imagined the man to be capable of almost anything. But luckily, he always waited politely till you’d come over to his place until he would touch you in that way. And that would be each day after work. And in the weekends, when he made you come around to his place to sit and watch television shows with him until his hand wandered underneath your shirt, his fingers squeezed your breasts, and his eyes met yours in a silent promise.

_There wasn’t a day without Arthur Fleck in your life._

You looked up at him with a growl and threw the wet cloth down on the table. Arthur looked at the cloth like it was an entity, complete with pity for the inanimate object, and winced when you threw the cloth down.

“Whatever did that poor cloth do to you to deserve such a punishment, I wonder?” He asked as he looked up at you again. You could see the pensive expression on his face, and knew he must be wondering why you were frowning in frustration.

“Forget about it,” you groused, then sardonically added, “We all have_ good_ days and _better _days.”

You could not get yourself to say that you felt this was a _particularly awful day_. After all, it had started with a clenching stomach ache, then, after breakfast you’d thrown up everything you’d just eaten, which left you hungry by the time you’d arrived here and started your job. Not to mention your fear of - and current lack of - monthly blood.

_No, this day was bloody awful already._

“Then I suppose you wish to say this day is _mediocre,”_ Arthur witfully replied. And you could not help it, his words brought a smile to your face. At least he knew you felt like shite.

“You should write that down in your joke book,” you said, glancing at the proud smile he carried on his face, obviously excited by his own clever retort. “I _actually like_ that one.”

You dried your hands on a nearby tea towel whilst you looked at him. Most of the jokes he had told you so far were kind of morbid. It was kind of awkward when he said something that made him crack up and you didn’t see the joke. And to make matters worse, he had the tendency to start spraying them at the most inappropriate times, when they were completely out of context.

Granted, you started to recognise whenever he told a joke and more and more often did you start to appreciate his sense of humour. He was trying, this odd man was. His jokes sometimes even made you feel at ease with him. But nonetheless, his timing needed some work. To help him with that, whenever a funny joke or expression passed the revue, you made sure to tell him to write it down. He was collecting material for some kind of stand-up show, after all.

“I will,” Arthur looked at you with a soft expression on his face, then reached out his hand to grab yours. But as he did so, his hand accidentally – or so you assumed- brushed past your chest. You felt how the back of his hand, his knuckles, brushed past your already sensitive breasts and bit your lip in order not to gasp out loud. He didn’t seem to notice as he collected your hands in his and brought them up to rest between your bodies. _Damn body, stop betraying me,_ you thought angrily at yourself. Even through all the layers of clothes you were wearing, his simple touch had sent shivers of anticipation down your spine and deep into your core. You _tried _not to squeeze your legs together.

Arthur whispered your name and you felt mesmerised, staring into his green eyes. You had difficulty deciphering his gaze. And he in turn seemed to look at you like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

But then he parted his lips to speak. “I was wondering if you would like something to eat to go along with your tea when you come over after work.”

You looked at him in surprise. Your mind was racing, knowing how little food he had in his fridge and how little you’d seen him eat since the day you’d met him. It was no wonder he looked as if he suffered from malnutrition as he did. For him to start about food was amazingly thoughtful_. He truly must be head over heels for you._

With a hum you nodded. _Yes_, you would like to have some food whilst you were over. He had you do physically straining things that would make even the most experienced _whore _hungry for food.

You just hoped you didn’t look as desperately pleased and eager at his suggestion as you thought you did. You probably did, for Arthur started chuckling. Not his pained chuckle, but his amused chuckle. You could feel his thumbs gently swiping past your knuckles. Then, he leaned closer to you and whispered. “I can’t wait to have you home again.”

You flinched but decided not to say anything as a reply to that. You allowed him to play with your hands, feeling how he gently swayed them from left to right between the two of you.

“Well, have some biscuits to go along with my tea and I’ll be there before you know it,” you assured him, hoping that he would keep word and indeed would have something to eat to offer you. "Or chocolate," you added as an afterthought. "I certainly do like some chocolate." Although that could be your hormones screaming for a sudden need of cocoa.

Arthur had to laugh at that and playfully waved your joined hands about in front of him. You waited until his mirthful chuckling had died down and then gave his hands a gentle squeeze, signalling for him to let go. He released you and you quickly picked up the cloth, eager to distance yourself from him lest your body's cravings became worse. Especially that craving to be held by him, or more. Arthur went to stand at the opposite side of the table where he could watch you work, his elbows resting on the chair.

“You’re such a caring little lady,” he mumbled, you almost had difficulty picking up what he was saying. You flashed him a careful smile and continued working your magic on the stains on the table. Even though the table was looking almost in pristine condition again, perhaps better than it had ever looked since Sophie owned it, but you just needed something to do to distract yourself and keep Arthur at bay.

You waited for Arthur to say something more about it, but he kept quiet. Apparently he was okay just watching you as you worked. You leaned forward over the table, your breasts jiggling softly with each sweeping motion of the wet cloth against the table’s surface. You kept your eyes trained firmly on the table, afraid of what you would find if you looked up. You could feel his gaze was intense and feared that the motions of your body would be interpreted sensually by him and cause him to sport an erection _down there._ Which would be something dangerously distracting to you. _No, don’t think of dicks. Not while on the job. Dammit._

From her room, you could hear Gigi call out for you. _Saved!_

“I’m coming!” You shouted in her direction, then focused on the table again and without looking up mumbled, “Arthur, you’ve got to go.”

“I know,” the reply was soft, barely a whisper, and you waited for Arthur to turn on his heels and disappear. Before he left though, you could feel him place his hand on your shoulder. That was when you finally looked up to catch the desire in those beautiful green eyes of his.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, and the tone of his voice was deep and primitive and made you feel weak at the knees. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek and you could feel his hot breath roll against your skin, the scent of cigarettes filling your nostrils. Glad for having a good grip on the table in front of you, you waited as he disappeared from the apartment, just in time for Gigi to come in and miss him. She looked at you quizzically for a moment, then bounded over to your side.

“Why are your cheeks red?” She asked you innocently. “And why are you breathing heavily?”

_Honestly?_

You decided to blame the stain on the table.

\--

The moment his door opened you were pulled in by his strong arms, pressed against the wall and fed a cloud of cigarette smoke into your gasping mouth as his lips were forcefully placed on yours. He kissed you hungrily, like a man starving – which in more ways that one, he was.

That thought made you smile, and Arthur, having felt the curl of your lips, took it as a signal that you were happy to be with him. He broke the kiss to stare deep into your eyes, his arms still keeping you pinned against the wall.

_God, you hated that foul cigarette taste between your lips._

Arthur laughed, a few stuttering chuckles. “You think you can just tease me and then leave me craving for you? I will show you what I do to girls who leave me up and waiting.”

His words sounded like a threat, and you wanted to part your lips to ask him if he had done this to other girls as well, suddenly nervous by his choice of words. But the sound that escaped your lips was a loud gasp, as Arthur shoved you upward and used one of his hands to tug your skirt aside. You’d resorted to wearing skirts and dresses again the past week, Arthur’s demand. It gave him easy access, and although he hadn’t needed it as desperately as he appeared to need it now, it had come in handy before.

He surprised you though by running his hand underneath your skirt and tugging your panties aside. His other hand let go of your own, slipping down your frame to scoop you up against the wall by your butt. He surprised you even more when you saw that his manhood was on full display, head shining with precum, ready to enter you. You realised his cock must have been out already upon your arrival. That he must have held it in his hand the moment he had opened the door. And by the state of it, you suspected he might even have been jerking himself off to keep himself upright for you and ready.

He gave you no time to answer or fend for yourself, and slipped in easily, guided by the precum on the tip of his cock as well as by your own natural juices.

_Oh, how your body betrayed you! He had trained you well._

You let out a squeak and flinched upon feeling his huge cock enter your tight vagina. He groaned as he slid into you in one stroke. With a loud squelching sound he was inside you, fully sheathed. You tried to breathe, having exhaled loudly at the sudden and unexpected intrusion, but now that he was pressed against you, you found that breathing had become hard. Despite his emaciated frame, he was still bigger and stronger than you, and his broad chest was pressing hard against your bosom and your belly as he curled into you. You tried to move your hands and found that you could. You were still pressed up against the wall, only supported by his hands lifting your hips, so you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to give you some extra support. Your legs curled around his waist, keeping him pressed deep inside.

He chuckled.

“My dear kitten,” his words were like silk and you felt your body react, your pussy giving Arthur’s cock an uncontrolled squeeze. He chuckled again. “Always teasing me, trying to make me think she doesn’t want this. But you do, don’t you? You’re so eager for me. So wet. So needy for my cock and my sperm.” He pulled out slightly, then pushed in again hard, making your hips bump against the wall. You could feel him tense, could feel his thumbs dig even deeper into your hips.

“You have no idea how ready I am to give it all to you. My little minx. My naughty _little_ kitty-cat.” Another thrust, and another sharp one. You gritted your teeth and held onto him. There wasn’t much else you could do but listen to the filth he spoke into your ear. You felt his brown hair tingle your cheek, the heat that his body radiated against your chest and hips, the sweat that rolled from his forehead as he leaned it against your neck.

“Such a young kitten,” he murmured against your skin. “Still so much to learn. So much to grow.”

For a moment he paused, deeply buried within you whilst your walls spasmed around him, eager for movement and eager for more.

Then he let out a dangerously painful laugh and threw his head back. You looked up at him, wondered what he would do next, and felt him reposition his hands on your body.

“You’re too good with others. Too good with other people. Too damn good,” and as he finished his rambling, he started to thrust into you. There was no mercy, just pure need and raw hunger. He kept pounding you, your body bumping up against the wall and creating thumping noises you feared the neighbours might hear. What would Sophie think?

But _oh_, thinking became _hard _as he worked on you. His cock slid in and out of you with little to no mercy, his fingers were digging into your hips, his teeth were gritted as he fucked you like an animal. And your body decided it was enough. Your walls started to spasm around him again, milking him in earnest as you came from the almost painful pounding he gave you, deep and hard. You gasped, struggled in his hold, tried anything to get him to calm down his pace, but he would not slow for you. Instead, he pounded you through your orgasm, then pounded some more.

When he came, you were just getting down from your high. You felt his seed spurt deep inside of you and it made you gasp.

Arthur was panting loudly, catching his breath. As you tried to catch yours, you looked up at him and thought this was to be it. But then he surprised you when you saw a wicked smile slide onto his face, and saw him take a hold of his cock. And before you knew it, he had slipped out of you, flipped you over and pushed you forward, into the living room and towards the table near the kitchen.

You gasped and struggled, until suddenly the hand that had been pushing you was gone and you were able to turn around and face him. He stood right behind you, trapping you between him and the table, leisurely stroking his already hard again, slick cock.

“What…..?” It was all that could escape your lips as you gazed at him.  
  
He wanted more. It was impossible not to see that he was craving more of you. And although you knew he had taken you several times in a single day, that he had the stamina for it – and where he’d gotten it you probably would never know -, still, his behaviour confused you. He had been demanding before, but this was different. _That smile_, that _devilish_ smile - _that was different_.  
  
You shivered, but he had none of it. “Take off your top sweetie,” he started, but his nasal voice wasn’t sweet. There was an odd twinge to it, something dangerously serious. His hand kept sliding up and down his re-hardening cock. You could see the veins bob, see them pulse as new blood came rushing through his shaft. He stood there as if nothing about this situation was odd, with him touching himself and threatening you to go for another round. His green eyes slid to the cabinet at the side of the room, a pocket knife lying displayed on top of it. You followed his gaze and swallowed hard. “Or I’ll have to cut it off you myself,” Arthur finished, quieter now.

Somehow, you felt that his threat wasn’t idle and as quick as you could, you took off your top. Then, by just the way he was looking at you and raised his brow, you unclasped your bra and added it to the pile of clothes near your feet.

It was all the time you had before Arthur closed the gap between you and pushed you backwards against the table. You felt the ridge of the wood press against your butt, felt how your back curved backwards until you lost your balance and lay down upon the table. He lifted your legs but this time by hoisting up your knees. Then he went to stand in between them, panting heavily down at you before he slowly positioned himself at your entrance, already soaked with a mix of your juices from the previous round of pounding.

You looked up at him and bit your lip, awaiting what was to come although you already knew what would follow. Without as much as a flicker of emotion on Arthur’s face, he snapped his hips forth and he was back inside of you again.

It felt delicious. The emptiness your pussy had been clutching was replaced by something hard and warm and very familiar. It was upsetting how you noticed you craved him more and more, needed him inside of you even though your mind kept telling you that you should not want it. As if he had somehow made your pussy addicted to his cock and your mind was still to follow. But he was there and he felt good. And even if he started up a slow but fierce pace again and your body was still sore from the previous fucking, you couldn’t help but appreciate his length, his firm thrusts, his moans. And you moaned too.

You felt how his hands left your knees now that he had you pinned to the table, your bottom resting upon the table ridge. In this position you didn’t need his support to keep you up and instead, his hands wandered up your torso. You felt his calloused fingertips brush past your sensitive skin. His fingertips swirled past your areolas, making your nipples peak. You bit back a gasp, unsuccessfully, and arched your back up into his touch. His thrusts never ceased, he kept a steady pace. Your gasps and his moans were accompanied by the lewd wet sounds of skin slapping against skin.

_There_, he flicked his fingers past your already peaked nipples and you had to bite back a throaty moan. Another pinch, your walls spasmed around his cock eagerly. _Why was it that his touch on your breasts made you react so fiercely down below?_ Another pinch as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. This time you could not hide the sounds that your body made. You gasped, you wriggled underneath him, your body clenched violently around his shaft and he was grinning. He was grinning triumphantly like he had won the first prize of something. And you tried to glare up at him to show him that he wasn’t winning at all, but you _knew _he was.

Another deep thrust, another moan drawn from deep within your body, another betrayal of your body as it clenched around his cock and invited him in with each thrust. _God, why did you have to be this wet for him?_ His fingers worked magic on your breast, pinching and pulling until you felt you were reaching your peak and your orgasm, which had been building more rapidly at his touch, was nearly there.

But he noticed. And his hands withdrew.

You let out an aggravated sigh, as if his hands leaving your breasts was the worst thing that could happen. In the meanwhile, his thrusts never halted. He kept up his steady pace and you felt his hips bump against your own, felt his hard cock stroke your insides which were coated with slick and cum. You groaned and tried to look up to meet his eyes, but it was hard. Your body was flushed, you were panting rapidly, and your eyes didn’t want to open fully at their own accord – or so it seemed. And that orgasm was still building, albeit it being at a slower pace now that his hands had left your breasts. But it was still coming, creeping up as a tight coil inside of your tummy. Being nearly there but not yet quite.

Gazing at him through half-lidded eyes, you noticed the concentrated look in his green eyes, darkened with desire. His lips parted in concentration. Then his fingertips were suddenly lightly upon your roughly manhandled breasts again, his fingertips brushing feather-light past your skin, travelling up from the tip of your breasts to your neck.

And then, his ever so light touch suddenly turned vicious.

His fingers curled around your neck, pressing you back down onto the table, nearly strangling you. Your eyes flew open wide and you gasped, your hands flew up to his wrists in order to relieve some of the pressure. But it did not work. He was _so much_ stronger than his frail body implied.

He held you by the throat, his hips snapping against you, cock pumping deep inside of you. You could feel he got off on this, felt how much he enjoyed the way he had you submissively underneath him. Saw how he looked down at you with gritted teeth, but his lips had twitched into a malicious smile. And the worst thing was you got off on it too, for despite the alarm bells ringing inside your mind, your body tightened around him once more, but this time in orgasm. You gasped, felt how your body pulsed around his unforgiving cock. Through gritted teeth you heard him groan. “Hgn, you feel so fucking good.” And his hips never stopped their rough movements.

“So tight, so good to me.”

You gasped for breath, grateful when his grip on you finally relinquished enough for you to properly breathe again. Your body pulsed around him, waves of pleasure numbing you somewhat for the pain around your neck. But his thumbs dug into your collarbone and that actually hurt. And wincing, you tried to look up at him and plead for him to be more gentle with you, hoping you could convey the message with just your eyes alone. And you thought he saw the message in them, thought you saw him understand that you needed for him to be more gentle with you. But his jaw set and you saw the little muscle in his jaw twitch, saw how his eyes hardened and became more determined as he chased his own release.

A few more firm thrusts and another load blown deep within your body, and finally Arthur’s grip on your neck relinquished fully. He was catching his breath, leaning over you to bury his face in your hair for a moment. You could hear him chuckle near your ear and felt the vibrations of it through your entire body. Then, he pushed himself off of you and you reached up to place your hands gently on the sore spots were his thumbs had been digging into your skin.

You looked up at Arthur. If he had seen the anger in your eyes for the way he had treated you, he didn’t let it show. He looked back at you, slipping out of your body without breaking eye-contact. You felt his cum trickle down your legs.

By stepping back, he gave you the space you needed to push yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself off the table fully. Your legs felt weak and your knees wobbled when you tried to stand. An instant sharpness rose up between your legs and made you flinch as he had once again not been very gentle with you. But the sharp pain was followed by a warm tingling feeling of satisfaction. Your traitorous body was starting to like his roughness and, on top of craving it, it seemed your body had grown to need it to feel fulfilled. _Because you did_, you felt _renewed,_ your energy oddly _replenished _after the double-fuck. You tucked your skirt down clumsily and turned around to search for your bra and top, only to remember they were next to your feet on the floor.

At the thought that you would have to bend over to pick them up you winced.

Arthur in the meanwhile had buttoned up his trousers and was once more fully dressed. He slicked his hair back while he scraped his throat, catching your attention. You glanced up at him, another death-glare that you couldn’t help.

Betrayed by your body, betrayed by society, betrayed by a man. _By him_.

You gritted your teeth. But Arthur surprised you by bending over and picking your top and bra up for you. He handed them to you deftly. His fingertips softly brushing past yours and it made you wonder how such gentle hands could have hold you so roughly only moments ago. You took your clothes and silently thanked him, watching him smile at your words before you turned around to place the items on the table before you started to dress.

“You’re welcome,” it was a whisper from his lips, but it didn’t help to ease your confusion. How could he be this rough and then be all gentleman-like the next moment?

He waited politely till you were fully dressed before he slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you carefully towards him to place a light kiss on your cheek. “I love you,” he muttered near your ear, his voice soft and gentle like all of his movements now were. His body was warm and comforting against your back. How could one man be this complicated? How could he treat you in so many different ways – and get away with it? His breath rolled past your skin when he spoke, you felt his words drawn deep to your core, “I _love _you _so much_.”

You turned to him in his arms, wrapped your own around his neck and pulled him in closer, determined to play along and make him understand that what he was doing was wrong. Your movements brough his lips close to yours and before you reached up to capture them with your own, you whispered to him, “You should be more gentle with me, Arthur. What you did there hurt me, hurt my legs, hurt my chest.” And then you kissed him in the hopes it would give him time for your words to sink in. And hopefully, your affectionate kiss would dampen any violent reply he might give to your accusation.

When you finally pulled away you saw Arthur look at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. Had he understood what you’d asked of him?

His hands slipped down your waist and searched your own. He seemed to love doing that recently, just holding hands with you. But his hands were always on top, always on the outside, always capturing your own. And it felt very much like the relation you seemed to have; with you being trapped by him, by his body. His hands on yours, his body wrapped around yours, pinning you down, holding you up, demanding not only control over your body and your bodily desires but also over your schedule, your time and consequently your entire life.

You expected for him to apologise, to tell you he would keep your concern in mind and be more gentle with you next time.

But what he did instead surprised you.

Arthur’s grip on your hands tightened, it was only a few seconds but the warning squeeze was evident. Something in his green eyes changed, something that reminded you of the devilish smile you had seen on his lips earlier. And then he said, “You can take a little pain.”

You snapped at him, your eyes angry and your lip curling into a snarl. Would he not consider your feelings? Was he some kind of sadist? What the fuck was up with this man? “I can take it? What if I don’t want to take it? Arthur, what if I told you that you hurt me and that I don’t like it? What then, huh?”

_Whoops._

The look in his eyes darkened more, but instead of tightening his grip on you like you expected, instead of screaming in your face like you thought a mad man would, _or even slap you,_ he let you go. Your hands were suddenly touched by nothing but air, and fell instantly back to your sides as you looked at Arthur in surprise.

He looked at the floor in front of him, his brown hair curling round his face and obscuring his emotions for you for just a few seconds. Because then he looked up again and a faint smirk slid on his face, contorting his features painfully so. And a new fear gripped your heart. _Was he going to have one of his painful laughing fits again?_

But he was composed, more so than you’d ever seen before. And as you inched back from him, he merely shook his head with that smirk plastered on his face.

“No, no, _that’s a lie_. What you just said, that isn’t the truth,” he looked up at you again, sharply, and you felt yourself freeze under his gaze. His smirk faded, but at least he did not approach you.

“You enjoy it, you enjoy me. You’ve said so before, said that you love me as I am. Well, this is also who I am. This is the part of me that’s been locked away for far too long,” and there it was. A ridiculous little giggle escaped his lips. If you hadn’t been scaring yourself by imagining all the possible bad possible outcomes after your outburst, then perhaps you could have laughed at the odd sound Arthur had just produced. But as it was, you were still anticipating the worst, and his different and unpredictable demeanour puzzled you. So you did not smile, did not giggle, just watched as he continued.

“Guess I’d never known how much of me was being pushed away, hidden by medicine and therapy. _Hidden by lies_.” Here he cocked his head at you and you saw a change in his eyes again. A darkness that was lifted, but the threat of danger had not left. “I don’t like liars, kitten. _So don’t you ever lie to me again.”_

For a moment you feared he would ask you something now. Would ask you if you truly hated how he had _made love_ to you. That he would ask if you loved him – and what would you reply if you had to be honest? Nothing was right anymore and everything confused you. Or what if he were to ask you something much, much worse? Something that would have you reveal that your relationship had been mostly in his mind till about a few weeks ago? What then?

Would he hate you if he knew the truth? Would he kill you for it?

You shuddered at the thought. But Arthur didn’t ask anything of you. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you gently and calmly escorted you to the couch in the living room. He helped you sit down, wiped the stray hairs out of your face and held your hands in his own until you finally dared to look up at him again. Then, he smiled. Warmly even. Lovingly.

“I’ll forgive you,” he said, his eyes bright again and you knew he meant it. You knew that whatever played in that complicated mind of his, he had found a way to forgive you and cope with it. He brought your hands up to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles before he lowered them again and let them go. He stood up, bending forward to place a kiss on the top of your head. All of his gestures now were caring and soft. And then you heard him whisper as he stood up, but you didn’t dare look up at him again as he went away to fetch you some tea.

“I know you won’t lie to me again.”

_Ouch_, that last sentence had felt like a knife to the heart.

How could you be honest with him when you didn’t even know what the truth was anymore? Could you tell him about his delusions? About how the start of it had not been your choice? Or how you felt about him now? When you knew this relationship was wrong on so many levels and felt dangerous as well, but your body craved his more and more and your mind started to believe his made-up relationship lies. What kind of distorted, wicked Stockholm syndrome was it that you were developing? Was his mental illness infectious?

You rubbed your hands past your eyes and took a deep breath. You waited for Arthur to return to your side with a cup of tea in his hand. He placed it on the table in front of you, then sat down next to you on the couch and gently rubbed his hand up and down your back to comfort you. You glanced at the cup, noticing the biscuit with a little chocolate placed on top that had been carefully lain on the saucer like a piece of art. At least he had fulfilled his promise to get you some cookies today.

Eventually, you got your mind to quiet down and gave in, leaning back against Arthur until you had melted in his arms. He put on the television and you faked that you watched, whilst in earnest you were just basking in his warmth and his scent and the feeling of belonging that he gave you.

Odd, that his presence paradoxically felt like safety and comfort while at the same time it had you keeping on your toes. You wondered when Arthur ever found out the truth, whether things would be different then. Could it be all comfort and safety? But that would mean you had to prove you truly loved him and trusted him – and you didn’t. Right? Perhaps a feeling that resembled love, but not the trust part. Because how could you trust someone as unpredictable and dangerous as him? And even if you surrendered to him fully, would that mean he would be able to bend you over a table and fuck you roughly whenever he fancied? Wouldn’t that be pretty much like he already did? With the difference that no one would be able to save you from his hands.

You toyed with the thought of going to the police. It was a thought you had entertained several times since Arthur first took you on his couch. So far, you’d chosen not to use the option, being convinced that the police officers were as corrupt as everything and everyone else in Gotham and fearing wat would happen if you did. If you were lucky, the officers would laugh you off. If you were to believe word on the street, and you’d be unlucky, they would try and get their hands on you, and you would not be able to escape if that were to happen in the police station. Gotham’s core was corrupt, and its officers were not a man's best friend, let alone a woman's.

Going to the police would get you nowhere, you knew that. And it would only upset Arthur even more, getting you in more trouble with him, so why even consider it? What was it that made you hope for some kind of hero to come and save you from this twisted man’s arms? Was he that bad? Whenever you two sat together or went out, he was almost quite normal. And your conversation and dates could even be called pleasant. So what made the change in him? His lack of medicine?

You looked up at him to see how his green eyes were focused on the television screen. Those eyes they could be so intense. You felt your mouth run dry. This was possibly the father of your unborn child, the man who had ransomed your heart. But you could not tell him for fear of how he would react. What would he do if he were truly angry, you wondered? You’d seen snippets of it, seen how his temper could change from harmless and affective to violent and dangerous.

Your eyes drifted to the screen, your head rested against his chest. After a while of watching in silence, Arthur bent over to pick up something from a small table next to him. A cigarette, you saw. He lit it without asking. You scrunched your nose and felt the nasty tickle in the back of your throat. He glanced at you. Had he noticed your disdain for this trait of his? When he saw you looking over at him he started to smile and you felt your cheeks flush. You quickly looked at the screen again.

“I’ve been working on a new show, better than the last one I gave.” His words peaked your interest and you looked at him again. You didn’t know he had been performing, although he had said that he was a stand-up comedian. But he was looking away now, as if in thought, the cigarette resting deftly between his fingers as he let out a little puff of air. The smoke twirled into the living room, filling it with more of the scent that made your throat ache.

“It’s a pity you’ve missed that one,” he said, eyes twinkling when he finally looked at you again. “Then again, I take it you don’t watch much telly.”

You raised a brow, wondering what he meant with that. Had he been on television? “We don’t have the luxury of a television at home,” you carefully said, thinking of how you and your parents had been saving on as many expenses as you could. Also, not to mention you hadn't had much time nor energy to watch anything when at home anyway. Arthur had been eating up most of your time. When should you have had the time and chance to watch? You wanted to ask if he’d been on it, but Arthur smiled at you and cuddled you closer to him with one arm, then used the other to bring his cigarette back to his lips and inhale. You felt his thin chest expand underneath your ear.

“Perhaps you’ll see me in my next show. Then again, I am thinking I might be changing my materials.”

“Oh, got some good ones?” You looked at him with pure interest. After being Arthur’s girlfriend for a few weeks, you still knew little about his daily activities, let alone about his show material. You’ve heard some of his jokes, but never really knew whether he had used them in shows or not. You had a hard time imagining they would work on a crowd.

Arthur hummed, which said not much.

“Due to my help?” You asked coyly, trying to coax out a compliment.

Instead, he laughed. You couldn’t tell whether it was one of his painful ones or one of ridicule, but you felt the slight pang in your chest and bit your cheek. Okay, so clearly your help had not been appreciated as much as you had hoped. “No, sweet girl,” Arthur tried to recompose himself but seemed to have a hard time and his words came through chuckles, “I think I might not stick to the jokes in my book after all. But what it’ll be… that’ll remain a surprise. You’ll see.”

And at that you decided not to question him anymore.

  
\--  
  
  


After that day, when Arthur had so roughly fucked you up against his wall and then his table, and had left you limping home feeling sore – he accompanied you to the front door, mind you. He was either that much of a gentleman, or just too plain scared that some other guy might take advantage of you. _Who knows_? He certainly was starting to make it a habit to walk you to the corner of your street and then watch in silence from across the street as you entered your home. You hoped your parents didn’t notice him. So far they hadn’t seemed to spot him yet. – After that one day, Arthur seemed to have quieted down a bit.

The next days he was gentle with you, not as eager to take you hard. You tried to cover up the marks he had left on your neck and your thighs, and although the usual bruises down below were easily disguised, your neck was a different story. You dreaded your parents reaction to the marks, but with a slight bit of make-up and clever covering up with your scarves, no one even seemed to notice. No one except Arthur, who made you drop your scarf when inside his home and then carefully traced his fingers past the bruised skin with a smile.

He was gentle with you now, and you were as pliant and as obedient as you could because you wanted him to be careful. _No._ Drop those last few words. _You wanted him_. God, whatever effect he had on you these past few weeks, you became more and more dependent on his presence. You needed him, craved his touch, craved his lips on your skin and his kind words in your ears. You still had your daily dallies with him.

_You wondered when he would start to notice the absence of your monthly blood._

But you tried to ignore your worries, tried to bury your fears. And you grew used to his presence, whether he was waiting for you after work, waiting for you to enter your house, or whether he would pop in Sophie’s apartment to tell you something about his day or simply watch you work.

Apparently, he couldn’t go long without you too.

But of course it had to go wrong. Your luck, as always, would have to run out at some point. It happened one Friday, when Arthur had joined you in Sophie’s kitchen where you made tea with biscuits for Gigi and her friend. You were talking animatedly when suddenly, Sophie came bursting in.

You _froze._

There she was, your employer, eyes wide. Her expression of surprise quickly changed into one of fright, then disgust, and you feared what she might be thinking. Would she blame you? Fire you? You weren’t allowed to let strangers in, you never did and never would have done under any normal circumstances. But Arthur had the key, so you assumed Sophie must have given it to him. But if she had, why would she look this surprised, as if she hardly knew him?

Sophie slowly said your name, her voice low like a warning. “What is going on here?” She asked, her eyes firmly upon you.

You glanced at Arthur, nervously, to spot him smiling at you with that kind smile of his. The fake one he used when addressing the waitress on one of your dates, or whenever he talked to someone in _society_ and tried to act polite. _That_ fake smile. He was trying to keep up appearances.

“I, uh,” great time to go and stutter. You wished you could hit your head but that would only raise even more questions now and surely wouldn’t be a great thing to do if you wanted to keep your job. If you even could after this fiasco. “It’s Arthur,” you clarified, uncertain of what to say in your defence, “your neighbour.”

Sophie blinked at you blankly. Why did she look like you had invited a complete stranger into her premises? What the heck was going on? She knew him, didn’t she?

It seemed to take her an eternity to reply, though it might have been just a few awkward seconds, but then she said. “I know who he is," before she repeated again, and this time much slower and much more menacing, "What’s he doing here?”

Her eyes traced to Arthur and you could see the dead-cold stare she held in them. _Oh boy, she was pissed_. And you knew she had every right to. How to solve this situation?

“Ah, Sophie,” Arthur started, charming his way like a weasel and offering her his hand to shake. She bluntly denied his offer, leaving him standing with his outstretched hand. “I can explain, I just came-”

“I didn’t ask you, Mr Fleck.” Her eyes travelled back to yours and her gaze was hard, disappointed. “What is he doing here?” She repeated.

You hesitated, then looked at the products in front of you on the kitchen table. “He said he needed-“

Sophie had sharply turned to face Arthur and did not even allow you the chance to finish your sentence. “Well, I am sure whatever it is you need you can get it elsewhere.”

This was going the wrong way, and to save the conversation and the entire situation, you quickly piped in, “He ran short of cream.” Not a complete lie. You hastily picked up some of the coffee creamer sticks that Sophie kept on the dining table. It wasn’t expensive, she owned a lot of them, and it seemed like a viable excuse that she couldn’t really grow mad over. Or could she?

“I thought it was okay to give him some,” you handed the sticks to Arthur, seeing how he took them from your hands without hesitation. You did your best to sound as innocently as possible when you looked at Sophie next, even battering your eyelashes slightly to go along with your acting skills, “Isn’t that the right thing to do?”

“Sure,” she responded distractedly. It seemed your innocent act worked. “But this is Gotham. People here need to learn to fend for themselves. You can’t expect to receive help whenever you need it.”

Sophie’s words shocked you and you felt there might be a deeper layer beneath them, something of a past experience that made her sound as harsh as she did. She was still glaring Arthur away, and if gazes alone could kill, he’d be a dead man ten times over.

He seemed to catch the gist and slowly made his way to the door, the excuse for his presence tightly clutched in his right hand.

“Then I thank you for your kindness,” he started, but once again Sophie cut him off.

“I’d rather you not. You’d better make sure you buy enough of everything. This is Gotham, sharing is a rare privilege I am not able to afford.” Sophie stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest and truly had a terrifying glow around her. You'd never seen her being this unkind before. What the hell was going on?

Arthur must have seen it too, for he apologised swiftly and with a sad smile, quickly made his way out of the apartment. Sophie watched him leave before she briskly turned to face you. With her hands on her hips she towered over you.

“What was that?” She sounded as angry as you imagined she would be. At the same time, you wondered if Arthur truly had scampered back to his apartment or if he was standing behind Sophie’s front door, trying to listen in on the conversation you were having. It would just be the kind of thing he would do.

“I…,” you started, uncertain how to go from here. You couldn’t just say _‘oh hey, he’s the man next door who happens to fuck me on a daily basis because he thinks we are together and,_’ nope. You could not do that. But then what was there to say?

“He’s your neighbour, and I thought… isn’t it okay… shouldn’t we be there for our neighbours when in this godforsaken city no one will stand up to help you?” You heard your own voice break at those last few words, emotions overtaking you. Whether caused by hormones or by your own traumatic experiences – because where were the heroes when you got pushed into all of this madness?

Sophie’s face instantly softened and she stepped closer to you. Her hands left her hips and she wrapped them around you, pulling you in for a hug. The action surprised you but it did not feel unpleasant. It reminded you very much of your mother’s arms around you, or your best friend when in school. Comforting, safe. Oddly enough, it felt even safer than being in Arthur’s arms, despite how much you’d grown used to being held by him in a similar way. Odd, that you would prefer Sophie’s safety over Arthur’s embrace.

You felt you were on the verge again – on that same verge of confiding in her and telling what the heck had happened to you. But then the thought of what you would do if you’d be standing in her shoes hit you and you reminded yourself again that the police where nobodies friend and Arthur would probably flip for real if that were to happen.

“Hush, sweetie,” _Damn._ Sophie’s words were like your own mom’s words. Gigi sure was lucky having her as a mother. Her warm embrace, the kindness of her voice now that she held you. “I know you did it with good intentions and I’m not mad at you, truly I am not.”

“Sophie, I.. I wouldn’t let a stranger in, truly. I would not risk Gigi’s safety, nor that of her friend. I would not risk your house or your stuff. I just thought… I had to help him… I thought it was right? But he just followed me in and, I swear, he wouldn’t have gotten no further than this kitchen, and I sent Gigi and Jennifer to her room and,”

“Honey, I’m not mad at you for trying to do the right thing,” Sophie’s arms around you loosened and you realised with a shock that you’d been trembling in her embrace, your muscles calming down at her touch and the comfort she gave you. You started to feel your body relax again. “And normally, I would applaud you for it,” Sophie continued. “Like you said, Gotham is a godforsaken city. No one will help us here. We all have to help ourselves. So a little kindness can go a long way.”

Then her smile turned sad, “I’m not mad at you for helping him. I’m just scared for you. Did you see that man’s gaze?”

You looked up at her, surprised. She finally let go of you fully, but was still standing next to you. Her eyes seeking yours when you asked, “What do you mean?”

Sophie’s face was earnest, her jaw set, the look in her eyes one of concern. “I don’t like the way my neighbour looked at you. Mr Fleck, he is known for having odd outbursts. Sometimes, at night, I can hear it. It hurts my ears. An awful sound, like a forced laughing, crying more-like. Even Gigi is frightened by his outbursts, and that’s just the sounds.”

You stilled and listened to her very carefully. This was the first time somebody was telling you about Arthur. It was valuable information, but information that sent shards of ice down your veins. You’d rather her tell you that she trusted him and that you would not need to worry. Instead, her words were the exact opposite and only confirmed the fears you’ve felt and held since the first time you saw him. Arthur seemed slight, but he was dangerous. And boy, were you in a lot of trouble.

To make matters worse, Sophie wasn’t nearly finished yet. She continued in that deliberately slow and low voice of hers, making sure you would follow her and understand, “A man as old as him, living solely with his mother, working as a clown or what not. That’s not normal.”  
  
_Huh, clown? _you thought upon hearing Sophie's words, which sent another shiver down your spine. _Was that her definition of a stand-up comedian?_ Or did she know something you didn't? Arthur had told you little about his daily job. He had mentioned a few jobs he'd explored in the past, and that now he was a stand-up comedian. And although you couldn't imagine he'd make enough money with such a job to live off, you had imagined him to have some other kind of side-job to pay for his bills. A night job would explain why he always seemed about during the day.

Sophie whispered your name to catch your attention, looking at you with knowledgeable eyes, urging you to understand the danger you were in.

“Hey, I am just saying. But he and his mother. How he manages to care for her, I don’t know. Look at the state of him, so thin, so frail. If you see him you'd think they must be starving."  
  
You actually wanted to ask about his mother here, because by the sound of it, Sophie apparently thought her to be very much alive. However, Arthur's stories gave you a very different impression. _What was going on?_ Yet Sophie kept on, "It's not normal, it's not. And it seems like there's more to it all. You’d think he could not hurt a fly, him, always dodging people. He hardly looks at other people, never mind speak to them. He’s always walking hunched over. Is he deliberately avoiding people? Is he just shy? I don’t know. You’d think he’s a child trapped in an adult’s kin. Yet, there’s something definitely off about him. Something’s terribly wrong.”

You decided to bite your lip to keep yourself from asking questions. How did she come to these conclusions? Why did she think these things? But Sophie hardly seemed to notice your expressions and rambled on without encouragement. “Then a few weeks ago, I heard this gunshot.” Her eyes widened and searched for yours. But you didn’t know how to respond. A gunshot? That changed things, changed things drastically. If he had a gun…

Sophie seemed to be on the same level of thought as she continued, “He seems like he can’t hit harder than a leaf blowing in the wind, but with a gun… you know.”

You didn’t need to know. You already knew that even without being armed he could pin you down and keep you trapped between his body and a wall. He didn’t need a gun to overpower you. And if you could, you would have told Sophie that she heavily underestimated the man. But your mouth felt like rubber, tasted like it at the words she told you, and you kept quiet instead.

Sophie pushed herself away from you with a sigh. “He’s bad news, he is. And I don’t like seeing you get into any trouble.”

You blinked, still at a loss of words. At this point, Gigi and her friend came bounding in and Sophie quickly changed her behaviour, turning all smiles as she greeted her daughter with a warm hug.

To think, you’d been in her arms like that only moments ago, finding some sort of support that you felt you had missed these past few weeks. You quickly looked away and bit your cheek.

Gigi and Sophie were talking animatedly for a moment while you finished your chores. You made a plate with cookies which you handed to Gigi and Jennifer. The two bounded off joyfully into the living area with Sophie making an attempt to follow them.

You looked up at Sophie and wondered if your working hours were over. Not just for today, but also for forever after the fiasco earlier. But it seemed she saw your hesitation.

“You can be off if you wish, or stay and play with us for another hour or so. I’ll still pay you full hours for today.”

Your face lit up. “You will?” Damn, you sounded so hopeful. Too hopeful. You really needed all the money you could get.

“And the incident earlier on..?” You carefully asked.

Sophie shook her head and laughed softly. “Look, just don’t let him in again. If someone rings the doorbell, just use the peep hole first. If he stands in front of the door, just ignore him or if you can’t, tell him to go away and wait till I’m home. I’m not mad at you for trying to do the right thing,” she quickly added, seeing the doubt still on your face. “You’re the dang best nanny I’ve had so far. Gigi loves you and I trust you, okay? You won’t be out of the door just like that.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, your shoulders sagging a bit as the tension left your muscles.

“It’s just, I don’t trust him and I want you to promise me to be careful around him, okay?” Sophie’s sincerity when she looked at you, her concern well-displayed in her eyes, nearly broke your heart. Because how could you make such a promise when Arthur had already broken you?

“I promise,” you still said. Because you always tried to be careful when around him, didn’t you?

At your made promise Sophie’s eyes lit up again and she too seemed to relax some more. “Great,” she said, bounding after her child. But not before she called at you from over her shoulder. “Get us a cup and join us, okay. It’ll be fun.”

With a small smile on your lips you were left standing in the kitchen. Sophie gave you a feeling of security, of friendship. Even though she was your boss, you felt strengthened by her words, as if you’d found some much needed support in this ever increasing chaos you’d descended in.

As your thoughts slid to Arthur you wondered if he’d be waiting for you in his apartment, brooding on his couch as you suspected him to be most of the time. Or would he be pulling himself like he had done yesterday, preparing himself for the bodily pleasure he claimed only you could provide?

Then another shiver down your spine. Or would Arthur still be standing outside the door? Would he have pressed his ear to the wood and would he have followed all that had been said in here?

You tried to shrug your thoughts away from you. No matter what Arthur did right now, you were in a safe bubble created merely by Sophie’s presence. What Arthur did, didn’t matter.

You would see him again soon enough.

**\-- ** --  
  
**

_ ~Bonus~  
  
_

**\-- ** --  
  
  
**

Arthur retreated to his apartment and with a scoff closed the door. He kicked one of his strewn-around shoes, making it fly against the couch, then let out a loud cry before he let himself sink into the couch. The sticks of coffee creamer were thrown carelessly on the side-table. Then he placed his hands on his face and rubbed his own skin furiously.

He grunted, his teeth gnashing together, whilst his legs started to bop up and down uncontrollably.

_Whatever did she know_? Sophie, he had thought _more _of her. He had thought his lovely young neighbour to be so much better than anyone else he’d ever met. She’d smiled politely at him in the elevator, had shown to be such a caring mother in all those moments he had followed her around whenever she and Gigi went to school or simply into town. But how she had disappointed him by sending him out like a complete stranger. And then nearly called him a freak even! Although she had not taken the exact word into her mouth, he had heard snippets of her warning to you. Had heard how she tried to corrupt your little brain from his affections.

Well, Sophie would not win.

And yes, perhaps he realised that some of the interactions he’d had with Sophie had been made up by his mind, like many of the situations in his life while on medication seemed to have been. But he was sure now that his delusions were slowly vanishing, had almost entirely gone now. He knew that whenever he touched you, or saw you, it was real. He had proof, time upon time again. Pinches on his skin, hickeys on yours, items you forgot over at his place, items he gave to you and saw in your house whenever he secretly came over to peek through your window. No, he wasn’t losing his mind. He was finally regaining it!

And it felt marvellous!

On the downside, his so-called mental illness had messed up a lot of his imago. He found out more and more how much. How his ex-co-workers had viewed him as a freak, how other neighbours shunned him. And now Sophie. But she would not win.

She would not take you from him.

Not now that he knew he had you for real.

Not now that he knew you were his, more than he had ever dreamed of.

Not now he knew that he could never let you go again.

He looked at the red suit he’d been so proud to own. It was his best suit. Well, since he was becoming the best version of himself, he might as well don the suit. A smirk slipped on his face.

And then he laughed.

Loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all, I live on your kudos and your comments. And I love to hear what you would do if you were standing in the reader's shoes and things got to this point. What do you feel will happen next? Who do you think will be your allies? Who will be your hero? Or will there be no saving you from Arthur's hands? I'd like to interact with you, so please, don't feel shy to leave a comment below :)


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is onto something, and confessions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400 kudos??? 400??? You realised how fast you gave them to me? Oh, dearie, you. I suddenly had to get off my butt to write some more for this tale. And I am ashamed to admit I am not as excited about this chapter as I am about the next ones. But some things in this had to be done. Oh boy, oh boy, there's some trouble up ahead. I added a few more chapters to the estimated length of this fic, realising it has expanded even more now. But I know where I want to go with it. I have an ending in sight.
> 
> Chapters have, as of now, a BEFORE item. And you will see why that was necessary. 
> 
> Also, a friend of us helped us pose for a cover. Isn't that nice?

\--

**Before  
  
\--**

Sophie’s eyes flew open wide at Gigi’s words once you had left the apartment. “What did you just say?”

Gigi cocked her head and looked at her innocently. “He said he wanted to borrow her.”

Then Sophie rushed over to the window and looked outside, turning herself away from the kids as she whispered in a choked breath, “shit, shit, shit.”

\--

**Chapter 6**

\--

Wandering over to Arthur Fleck’s apartment, away from the safety Sophie’s home had to offer, you felt more nervous than you had in days.

The past few days had been quiet. Arthur’s touch had been gentle. He had scooped you in his arms, whispered sweet little nothings to you, made love to you on the couch or on the bed. But you knew there had been times when he had been more demanding, when he had been rough with you, when he had not only left his mark on you but his hands had taken away your breath. How would you find him today, after the way Sophie had caught him and sent him out?

And now there was Sophie’s voice in the back of your mind, constantly reminding you that people thought him to be weird, that he had a mad laugh, that he scared Gigi. _Odd, wasn’t it,_ that the knowledge that this man scared a child you had grown to love was weighing down on you more than the alarm bells in your head when you saw him.

You had to be careful, Sophie had made you promise that, but how? As far as you knew you were trying everything you could to keep yourself in the safest position possible. Your tactic was to play along with the fantasy he had of you in his mind. But what guarantee did it give you that you would truly be safe?

_None,_ you thought despondently. Because only after Sophie had warned you, and you had sat down with her and the girls to watch a silly show, you’d realised that if Arthur could flip over something trivial like the kind of drink that you chose to drink, simply because it did not match with his own mental image of you, then who was to say that mental image wasn’t altered by himself?

What if he had another delusion and this time it wasn’t him imagining that you loved him. What if he fantasized a version of you who did something he disliked? A version of you who wanted to leave him?

What would he do then?

_You dreaded to think._

And then, as you and Sophie and the kids had sat in front of the telly, there was that mad laugh. As if fate was taunting you. You knew this laugh as his pained one, the one from his condition. Despite the telly being on you could hear it through the wall. And Sophie had looked at you and said nothing. She had only raised an eyebrow as if to silently say ‘hear, I told you so’. And you had responded with a curt nod whilst a heavy and sickening feeling had swirled in your lower tummy.

Was this the man who had done all those unspeakable things to you? _Why had you even let him?_

So suppose for a moment that Sophie’s comment had upset him enough to turn howling? How would he react to you? Would he be angry at you for not standing up against her? Would he be rough with you? Would he blame you for trying to keep your job?

You tried not to think of what had happened only hours ago, but you found it hard. Now that Sophie had called Arthur a clown, your mind dug up silly words he had said not even that long ago, when he had broken into your bedchamber and shown you that even your own little room wasn’t a sacred space any longer.

_He had asked about the murders on the subway. _

A minute detail, a news-item you had pushed deep into the back of your mind in an attempt to forget. Something big that had happened and something bad. You tried not to think of the ever expanding dangers Gotham had to offer. Corrupt police men, volatile kids, wrecking hooligans, roaming lunatics, shortages, lack of jobs, people trying to survive by all costs. You preferred not to think of these dangers so close to home or else you would not dare walk the streets any longer. Not to work, not even with Arthur by your side walking you home. So like all other bad news that had happened close to home, you tried not to think of it.

But that word Sophie had used. _Clown. _

Your brain froze at that, not quite wanting to believe what it had just thought.

_What if?_

And you wouldn’t have thought it if it hadn’t felt like it could be the truth. Right from the start, Arthur had radiated a sense of danger. One moment all you sensed was innocence, the next it was mingled with fear. Innocence and danger, both at the same time. A twistingly sick paradox. What were you to believe if he sent out such opposite signals? How were you to respond? But if you had to be honest to yourself, the first time you ever actually noticed him, that time when he had stepped into Sophie’s apartment uninvited, you had thought he was there to either rob you or to kill you.

_Or both._

And if your first impression of him was that of a dangerous man capable of committing a murder, then the connection made by your brain _could not_ be called a silly one.

Because whether he was a clown or not, whether Sophie had seen him in clown’s attire, or whether anyone else for that matter, could it not mean that he had been the clown who murdered those young men in the subway? You feared him enough to think it to be true. You loved him enough to hope it wasn’t.

_Love._

You tried to shake the thought away as the door behind you closed quicker than you had wanted. You despised the way your mind contorted what you felt for the man. _Love was definitely not the right word. _Yet the idea that something would happen to Arthur felt like a fist squeezing your heart. Your emotions were conflicted and distorted. You had to conclude that somehow your life had become a part of the paradox he radiated. Because why else was walking away from him hard? Why was it as hard as walking towards him?

At the other side of the hall you could see the flickering reflection of blue and white lights from Arthur’s television. The sound was switched off. His door stood ajar for you.

You cast a quick look over your shoulder but couldn’t see anything other than the closed door behind you. Sophie had been nothing but kind to you, but she was suspicious of her neighbour. For a moment you wondered if she stood behind the door still, eyeing you through the peephole. What if she did and she saw you enter Arthur’s home?

Should you be more careful in your approach? As you stepped away from Sophie’s door, your heart was beating rapidly inside your chest.

Today had been a close escape, you reminded yourself. When Sophie had caught Arthur in the kitchen with you it had been your swift thinking that had saved the day. Sophie had bought it. You knew why you had lied. In a way it felt like you weren’t just protecting yourself any longer. You were trying to protect everyone around you, including him. Including Arthur. And you knew that somehow, Arthur had started to become the centre of your world.

_You needed to get out._

And with this feeling of dread, you approached Arthur’s domain. Inside his apartment he could do with you as he pleased. Even if you felt tired, like today, and not quite up to it. But going home would not save you. You knew now that he’d only follow you and corner you there.

No. There was no escaping this man.

A glint caught your eyes, the reflection of two eyes watching you from the crack between the door. He was waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Swirls of smoke slid through the crack of the door like snakes.

Behind you, you heard the chirping voice of Gigi and Sophie’s soft voice replying her. All muffled of course. For a moment you wondered if Sophie truly had stood watching you through the peephole to see if you’d made it out safely. She’d dropped something like that on your way out, speaking her concern and telling you not to stop for anyone and just head home straight away – to which you had obligingly nodded. But if she had been looking over you, then surely by the sounds of it, Gigi and Jennifer had her distracted. And deeming it safe, you slipped into Arthur’s home and into his awaiting arms.

There it was. The hug. The embrace you’d grown used to.

He was smoking, a cigarette held in his left hand. But he took care to keep the butt far away from your clothes as his arms snaked around you. His lips brushed the hair on top of your head before he placed a gentle kiss there. He was gentle, not at all as violent as you had feared after the way Sophie had rudely discharged him from her apartment earlier that afternoon. _Phew, what a relief._ You relaxed slightly, basking in his scent and warmth. The fear of finding him angry at you leaving you.

Your hands circled around him on their own accord. A gesture trained into you in the past few weeks. His body felt warm against yours as you buried your head against his thin chest, feeling the bones and muscles through the layers of fabric. Your fingers buried in the silk of his jacket.

_Wait? Silk_? Not the usual cardigan? Not just the waistcoat or the occasional tidy blouse?

You gasped, feeling the soft silk of his suit as you looked up at him in awe.

“This looks mighty expensive,” you gasped, your words coming out more like a rasp. _Stupid cigarette smoke._ Your throat had hurt a little, the hurt increasing over time. As if you were having a permanent cold. Your eyes slid over his appearance while your fingers traced past the fabric of his jacket. The red suited him nicely. You had seen this suit before. But always in parts, never the complete set.

This time, he wasn’t wearing just the waistcoat but it was the entire deal. The combination of all pieces, the waistcoat, the jacket and the trousers, made him look like a stain of red wine in the dingy apartment. _It looks good on him,_ you mused. Even if all the red was a bit much.

He was grinning down at you, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn’t keep them still, running from the small of your back up to your head. He loved doing that, loved to run his fingers through your hair and relish in the height difference between the two of you. “It was. Bought it second hand. Spared some savings.”

His right hand ran up and down your back, from your shoulders to the small of your back where it remained.

“It looks good on you,” you muttered softly. “For a special occasion?” Your voice cracked. _Damn, that sore throat. _

“Hmm, for my mum’s funeral,” Arthur said. You weren’t sure if he had properly heard you because his eyes weren’t really upon you any longer. Instead, he seemed to be staring at something way ahead in front of him. He nodded absentmindedly while his hands kept wandering up and down your body.

You parted your lips to say something more, still not certain whether that funeral had been a recent thing or one from the past. He’d never been truly clear on that. But no sound came forth and you closed your mouth again. The scaring thought that his mother had died only recently sent a shiver down your spine. Hadn’t Sophie said, today, that Arthur lives here with his mum? How come she didn’t know Arthur’s mother was dead? When did it even happen?

Arthur had turned his eyes on you and you saw a smile curl his lips. His touch was warm, his palm burning through the layers of your clothes. As you turned your head to place your right cheek against his hard chest, you suddenly noticed the bareness of his apartment. It had undergone some changes since you’d been here yesterday.

“What happened?” You asked, voice croaking while you gestured at the apartment. Different parts of furniture had been pushed around, walls had been uncovered and statues and little ornaments removed.

In your surprise, you took a step back from Arthur, feeling how his hands slipped from you. You looked around, seeing more of the wallpaper exposed than you ever had before. The amount of pink had always puzzled you, but you had slowly started to accept that you might never find out if the apartment’s layout and decoration had been Arthur’s own taste, or had been that of his mother or even a previous wife. He had never told you that, and you had never gotten round to finding the right way of asking about it. Not without rising suspicion and putting yourself in possible danger of another of his breakdowns.

You looked around with a hoarse gasp. Some of the paintings had been taken off the walls, leaving the walls almost looking bare. The wallpaper that had been hidden underneath the paintings was a darker shade of pink, indicating how the rest of the wallpaper in the apartment must have faded by being exposed to the light of the sun. It must have been decorated like this for years, you silently mused. The paintings had not been thrown away, as they stood underneath the spots where they had hung, upright and with their backs turned towards you, hiding their images.

At least the couch was still where it used to be, and so was the tv and the little table in front. But the room seemed colder without the little frivolous paintings and statues that it had harboured before. _Why had he gotten rid of them?_

When you returned your gaze upon him, looking at him in silent wonder, you found his green eyes were fixed on you. His gaze was intense.

“Your voice sounds hoarse, kitten. I hope you haven’t been singing for others.”

_What was that supposed to mean? _You blinked, slightly irked by the way he was avoiding answering your question. “What do you mean others?” But you heard the implication. _Others. Other men. _The jealousy coating his voice.

“_Sophie,”_ he said it rather nonchalantly.

“Oh,” you looked at him sternly, daring him to say what you thought he would say. But he didn’t. He just stared at you in turn. Then you shook your head defeatedly. “Anyway, I don’t sing.”

A frown slid on his face as he tilted his head to the side, studying you like the soreness of your throat was visible on the outside. _If only,_ you thought.

You bit your cheek, not certain how to tell him that your soreness was the result of the constant presence of his smoke. His smoking habit was a compulsive one. And whenever you had tried to bring it up, whenever you had tried to tell him how it made you feel, he had slammed the topic down with answers or questions that drew you away from saying anything more about it. He ignored what it did to you.

Even when his cigarettes were out of sight, you could still smell the pungent scent of them on his person. He pressed himself close to you at least once a day, bringing the odour up close to your nostrils, forcing you to breathe the cigarettes along with him even when he wasn’t actually smoking at the time. The smoke had become an integrate part of him and pretty much like sex, it would intertwine with your whole being, quietly entering your body like the man’s seed.

You even wondered, one night in bed when sleep wouldn’t come, if his sperm would taste the same like cigarettes. If it would be made out of nicotine.

To him, it must seem silly, whenever you tired to hint at the discomfort his habit brought to you. Like the whining of a child. Plus, you thought, he’d probably grow angry at you if you brought it up again. You quickly glanced down at your feet.

“It hurts,” was all you said after a pause of deliberation, while you tried not to glimpse at the cigarette he was holding. But he had caught your glance, however fleeting it had been. His green eyes shifted to the object held thoughtlessly between his fingers. To your surprise, he had jumped to the right conclusion.

“Is it because of the smoke?”

Despite his soft voice, you weren’t certain he wasn’t coaxing you into a confession. You weren’t certain his question was as innocent or well-intended as it sounded.

You parted your lips again to answer, but seeing him raise a brow in expectation, you resorted to nod your head instead. Your courage suddenly failing you. Your hand slipped up your chest to your throat, gently resting there, a reminder of where it hurt.

Arthur watched you for a moment, no visible emotion on his face, just the cogwheels turning inside of his eyes as he thought it over. He took another deep drag and you half-expected for him to stub the butt afterwards, being more considerate now that he knew and heard the effect it had on your vocal chords.

But instead he turned away, cigarette still lit, smoke coming off in a nice swirly curl out of the tip and adding to the smoky essence of the room.

The only thing you heard was the deep sigh coming from his lips, his own breath accompanied by more smoke that filled the room.

_Nasty_, you thought. And_ bastard_.

How dare he deny your discomfort! As if he deliberately started to smoke to vex you, to show he was the one in control. _Like he needed to_, you thought with a hint of self-pity_._ Was he truly not aware that he made the rules and you followed him in whatever he set out for you? Your hands clenched into fists while you gritted your teeth. It was only for a moment though, but it felt good to let out some of the frustration._ How dare he? How dare he!_

You watched him as he sat down on the couch, shifting his hips until he was comfortable. Then he smiled up at you sheepishly, like he hadn’t just ignored something as important as your welfare.

He flipped the lapel of his jacket to the side, revealing his wine-red thigh. While he brought the cigarette to his lips with his left hand- _he was trembling_, you noticed with a shock - his right hand worked on the fly of his trousers. _Opening them,_ you thought, instantly alert. _So it had come down to this again. Like always._

As you willed yourself to calm down, you watched him fumble with his fly, his hand sliding underneath the silk of his trousers. _He’s upset,_ you thought alarmed. _And he needs comforting._

You recognised this from before. The first time he had dragged you to his apartment he had told you that this was what_ fantasy-you _did. That you would sit on his lap, take his cock and ride him. You comforted him that way, he had told you. And it had shocked you.

_Now it shocked you that it no longer did._

“Come sit on my lap,” Arthur’s voice was soft but low. He blew out another puff of smoke and you wondered if he deliberately blew it in the direction of your face. Then your eyes slid to his right hand to see him patting his thigh, inviting you over. And the stupid thing about it all was, you did as he wanted you to do. Your body moved on its own accord, it didn’t need thinking.

_This ridiculous, silly man_, you silently cursed. Several years your senior, with veins of hardship showing on his hands, with an emaciated body that showed ribs and muscles of strength, with wrinkles and the odour of cheap aftershave and cigarettes, how could he tempt you? Why did your body do a little flip on the inside? Why did your core moisten at the sight of his pleading green eyes? Why did you respond to him when you knew what lay ahead?

His eyebrows rose at the sight of your wiggling hips as you stepped out of your panties and then raised your skirt. His right hand fumbled with his own trousers before his cock sprung up from its refines, the head an angry red and leaking a bright white liquid.

Bright white pre-cum. _Not the colour of nicotine_, you thought with a silent chuckle.

You followed his lustful eyes as they traced the way your panties slid down your legs. Then he looked up at you and his green eyes darkened with lust. His left hand moved to the side table, stumping the butt of the nearly drained cigarette while he blew out the last of the smoke. Then he reached up for your chest.

His fingers grazed up your blouse, the fingertips brushing past your clad breasts while his hands roamed up your shoulders, then up to your cheeks. You leaned forward, slowly moving one knee at either side of him. His touch was gentle, his warm calloused palms stroked past the skin of your cheeks before his grip on you became more forceful and he drew you in for a kiss. _Always those two hands_, you thought. _Like he needed them to make that you couldn’t just go. _Trapping you in a kiss.  
  
You kissed him back with the same hunger he had taught you he possessed. He loved that, loved how responsive you were to him. And to be honest, the kisses made you feel slick at your core, even wetter than you had ever imagined you could get.

Your lips parted and his tongue slid in with ease. He nipped and nibbled hungrily at your mouth, while you slowly lowered yourself onto his lap. Slowly, very slowly.

His hand slid down your chest, only pausing to gently squeeze your breast, before it slid lower until it rested just above your pelvis. His fingertips grazing the skin close to your clit.

“Hmm, I missed you,” he murmured as the two of you broke away to catch your breaths.

“You saw me earlier today,” you replied. “Besides, I’m always here, Arthur.” _Not that I could be elsewhere, even if I tried, you’d find me._

“I know,” he let out a chuckle, high-pitched, dangerously reminiscent of his condition-type of laughter. But it was just a single high-pitched chuckle, and then it was over and his expression was stern again. You felt him place both his hands on your hips, the cigarette gone, as he helped you lower yourself. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance and to your shame you felt you were wet. Wet like you were each and every time Arthur wanted you. How he had managed to train you this well you thought you would never know.

His green eyes were boring into you, searching yours with a sense of urgency. And it was with this penetrating gaze that he entered your core, thrusting into you with one firm thrust. You could feel him instantly deep inside you, the ridge of his cockhead scraping deliciously past a sensitive part of your walls and drawing out a moan.

You groaned and threw your head back. His hands were hot upon your hips as he started moving. It wasn’t as gentle as he had been these past days, but it was considerate compared to what he could do and had done before.

His thrusts were swift and deep, his pace rapid, his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust, leaving you to moan involuntarily with each deep hit. You had wrapped your arms around his neck for support. As a result it brought your chest closer to his and with each thrust you felt how your breasts brushed past his chest as he curled against you. The feeling of the fabric of your blouse stroking past your nipples, his warmth against your sensitive breasts, it was enough to turn you into a shivering mess. You bit your lip to keep from gasping, but his thrusts were too deep. And in the end, you came around him much too soon, shuddering, while you heard him rasp out your name. Again. And again. And again.

His cock pulsed inside of you and you felt the warm rush of his semen spurt deep inside of your core.

Arthur rested his forehead against your collarbone, curling his back in an uncomfortable bow. He was eerily quiet, his grip still firm upon your hips. But then you felt it. Small tremors of his body against yours. Your eyes grew wide as fear gripped you. Was he going to have another fit?

But you felt him shake his head against you, heard how he sighed and popped his lips. The trembling subsided somewhat.

“How did I get this lucky?” You heard him ask. His trembling must have been because of chuckling. Not in the painful kind of way that would lead to another bout of cackling, but in a more honest way. You quickly looked away, not wanting to think the thoughts that came to your head at hearing these words. _Lucky?_ He was. But you?

You had to please a man who possibly thought you weren’t real, who probably had gotten you pregnant – _no, don’t even think about it. All those times you had to throw up were caused by eating the wrong food and having some kind of flu. The belly aches the same. The missing of your monthly blood_ \- You shook your head, willing the thoughts to go away as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut.

Finally Arthur let go and you were relieved to find him help you off his lap and then see him reach to button his fly up again. It would stick to one round this afternoon and you were grateful for that. You’d never felt so tired in your life. Well, not that you could recall. Your breasts felt heavy, tingling and sensitive, and your pussy ached. _You’ve had enough._

You stood up and picked up your soaked panties from the floor, swiftly putting them up before straightening your skirt. After straightening your blouse and once more slipping your hands down your thighs to smooth the crinkles out of your skirt, you sat down next to Arthur on the couch.

He was staring in front of him, currently out of this world, with a fresh cigarette in his left-hand. His right hand trembled slightly. _What is going on in that mind of his?_ What had unnerved him so?

“Arthur?” You asked him, carefully.

His eyes were upon you instantly. At least the trembling in his right hand subsided and even his bobbing legs quieted down until they were at ease. His shoulders sagged and it seemed as if he relaxed now that he saw you, truly saw you. You could tell by the way his eyes widened and the clarity that you saw return to them. His gaze no longer afar, his pupils still dilated from the intensity of your intercourse.

But then he parted his lips and you focused on them, on the tiny stubble you saw that had appeared on his chin and cheeks. You saw the way his Adams apple bobbed as he wet his lips before he spoke. His voice was soft.

“You are _beautiful_.”

The words came out of nowhere and you felt your cheeks flush. He was back to admiring you again. And no matter how often he said sweet little nothings to you, you weren’t sure if you’d ever grown used to his compliments.

Suddenly feeling awkward, you fidgeted with your hands and tried to deter the attention away from you. His gaze was too intense. You feared what would happen if you let him stay in this mindset of admiring you for too long. _Would he end up wanting a second round?_

“It’s Friday, Arthur,” you picked up a subject that you didn’t want to discuss but you knew you had to. “My father wants me to use the weekend to find a second job. Working for Sophie is just not cutting it any longer. He’s going to make me visit Mrs Christenson this Saturday.”

He was quiet. Eerily quiet even. The least you had expected was another protest by him for possibly gaining a job elsewhere. But he just sat there, his thigh pressed warm against yours, dragging from his cigarette and blowing the smoke. Unnerved. _Was he even listening that what you had just said?_

“It means we can’t meet Saturday,” you stressed each word in the sentence, drawing them out as to make sure he would fully hear all of them. And it worked.

Your words finally stirred a reaction. Arthur’s eyes snapped up at you and his hand started to tremble again. He showed you his teeth in a twisted smile, his legs bobbing up and down at the news.

“No. No. You can’t.”

“I must, Arthur. He will be suspicious if I won’t.” _Ah, there was that_. You didn’t want your parents to know about how Arthur had ensnared you. You feared for what they might do if they found out about him. Would they abandon you? Think you a whore? Would they harm him? Oh God, please don’t let them abandon me, you thought silently, biting your lip as the thoughts raced through your mind. If your parents turned their backs on you then you’d be stuck with Arthur fully. Who could be your saving grace then?

“You can’t go and work for that – that lady,” Arthur’s face had contorted into a sneer and the words he said were spit out with venom. His arms tensed and you saw the muscles on his wrists pop out as he flexed his hands. “You’d be working somewhere else, far away.”

_Somewhere you’d be having a hard time reaching me,_ the thought came unbidden but amused you, and you had to stifle a smile. The prospect of working elsewhere didn’t even seem that bad. Unfortunately you had met Mrs Christenson and hadn’t particularly liked her. The road to her home was longer than the one to Sophie’s flat and you disliked the idea of travelling long distances in Gotham’s current climate of danger and chaos. Plus, you loved the dynamic you had with Gigi and Sophie. You weren’t ready to give up all that.

“And I won’t,” you said, seeing how Arthur’s face softened somewhat at your words. He leaned back on the couch again, his hands relaxing on his lap. He brought his cigarette up to his lips and the held it next to his head as he rested his head against his fingertips, turning his head to look at you with concern.

“But does that mean I won’t see you this weekend?”

It pained your heart. _Odd_, isn’t it. Once again that paradox. You wanted to run from him and be far away, but still it pained you to think that you would have to skip a day of seeing him. It already felt like you missed him while you were still there, next to him. _What had he done to you?_

“Sunday,” you promised. “Sunday, we can meet at the coffeeshop. But then you will have to promise me you won't come sneaking around to my house tomorrow.”

His smile grew. "I think I can survive that."

"Good."

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence again as for a moment you sat together, side by side. His hip against yours, his thigh against your knee. He hummed something while you stared up at the ceiling, following the trail of the smoke he emitted.

Then Arthur stood up and, on his socks, trudged over to the kitchen to make the two of you something to drink. It was a newly developed habit, but one you liked. Ever since he had shown concern about feeding you, ever since had shown up in Sophie’s kitchen to ask you about wanting something to go along with your tea, he made sure to have a little something on the tray for you to eat. It had grown into a daily occurrence and you were happy for it. He returned with the usual tray, a cup of your favourite tea for you and a cup of coffee for himself. The biscuits laying on a small platter in between, neatly stacked on top of each other by the tips to form a little abstract piece of biscuit art.

But these were with coffee and though any other day you would have taken one and ate them, your stomach suddenly turned at the sight of them.

_Oh no, not again._

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to eat them?” Arthur asked in his nasal tone. He genuinely sounded affronted. _No, no. Just when he was being so considerate you had to go and screw it all up again!_ Arthur’s pout and deepened frown told you enough. As if the idea of you rejecting his offer was one of the worst things that could happen to him. He sounded hurt. Possibly slightly betrayed.

Over a goddamn biscuit.

_This is it,_ you thought to yourself_. This is wat I meant earlier. If Arthur can get upset over trivial things such as me accepting a biscuit by my tea, then what else will upset him? And worse, what will he do when the thing that upsets him is bigger than a biscuit?_

And worse yet, you felt the guilt building deep inside of you. Because you knew the sweets along with your drink were a thing of recent days. It was something he did for you, as he never took a bite of them. Always left them on a tray for you.

The concern was written plainly on Arthur’s face, his dark eyebrows drawn into a frown as he looked at you with those green eyes glimmering with emotion.

_How could you refuse?_

Despite your stomach twisting, you leaned forward and took one of the biscuits of the tray.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Arthur started, still sounding resentful and hurt, but you cut him short.

“No, n-no, it’s fine. I really appreciate you taking home sweets for me, Arthur. I, I love that you’re being so considerate.”

Arthur’s frown remained until he saw you take a small nibble from the biscuit and only then subsided. His lips even curled back into a smile. _Innocent_, you reminded yourself when you watched him. _Not able to hurt a fly._ The danger you had felt and had perceived was gone again. This isn’t normal, you had to remind yourself as you took another bite and despite the lurching of your tummy, downed one more.

“Considerate?” Arthur let out a low laugh as he settled himself next to you on the couch again. Both of you glimpsed at the clock at the same time. It had become a habit that you stayed with him for an hour or two, depending on the day. You’d covered for yourself by telling your parents that you worked extra hours at Sophie’s for a while. Needless to say they had calculated your salary per hour and had concluded that she was underpaying you, even if it was just slightly. Enough reasons for your dad to arrange a meeting with a possible new employer.

“I’d like to think of it more as natural,” you heard Arthur say next to you. You glimpsed at him. He was calm again, his head resting in his hand, one foot propped on the small table in front of you. His cigarette still in his hand. “I need to take care of you. Whatever I do for you, I do it out of love.”

Your eyes widened at that but you tried not to react to it with words. _Out of love? Hah_. If he truly loved you, he would be treating you differently.

You listened to his voice as he droned on about this and that while the feeling of nausea slowly ebbed inside of you, creeping up from your lower tummy all the way to your stomach, and then higher to your chest. Until suddenly, it got to a crescendo. Your lower abdomen hurt, sending spikes up to the rest of your belly. Your midriff lurched, you felt the bile rise in your throat before you could stop it.

This wasn’t new to you. This had happened for the past several days. Not just mornings. It could happen midday, afternoons, even when you went to bed. It could come any time and any place and was usually roused by scent or taste. _The biscuit._

Swiftly, like you were skilled in this, you reached out next to you as you doubled over. In one fluent movement you took hold of the nearest object that could possibly contain the waste material, which happened to be Arthur’s waste bin.

_Just in time._

Your head was over it as the first of the bile left your lips and pride hit you. Pride that you wouldn’t leave a stain on the carpet or the couch.

But then there was the scent of waste. Of old cigarettes, of rotting food, of tissues with traces of dried up cum. And those scents only made the ache between your ribs worse and you heaved as wave after wave of bile left your lips.

You felt a warm hand on the small of your back, vaguely heard Arthur’s soft voice asking a worried question. But you couldn’t quite hear what he had said. Your mind was filled with emergency bells. This bin stank, and if you kept your head above it, you felt like you would never stop vomiting.

With all the power you could muster you tried to raise your head. Your hair splayed in your face, your hands and arms trembled as you tore your head away from the bin, which now emitted a smell of waste combined with vomit. Even as you succeeded in raising your head, the scent was still there, causing for another rupture of heaves and chokes.

One more, another, and then you were left choking, feeling pretty much like Arthur must whenever he had one of his fits. It was uncontrollable, it was pitiable, it was unwanted, it hurt, it left you gasping for breath.

And then there was a pull at the bin and you let go. Your eyes widened in surprise when Arthur took the bin away from underneath your nose and replaced it with a small cup. By the creaking of the couch you heard rather than felt how Arthur left your side, his hand now gone from your back and his warmth gone from your side.

_Was he repulsed by you?_

But then you heard his footsteps, the soft brushing of his socks as he walked. He must have gone to the bathroom. And indeed, not much later you heard the tell-tale sound of waste being discarded in the loo. There was waste in there, you thought alarmed. _Not all of that could fit through the loo, right? _

As you lurched once more above your cup, filling it despite struggling to keep whatever was left in your already empty stomach down, you heard the ominous sound of chortling from the bathroom. _Arthur was not okay._ Definitely not. The sound of the toilet flushing while Arthur was choking above it, cackling, was sending sparks of ice through your veins. His cackling transformed into his full-blown painful laughter. You heard him banging something against the wall. _His fist maybe?_ But then he calmed down somewhat. And before you had expected him to, he was next to you again. This time to take the cup from you and replace it with a bowl, more fitting to the purpose, and more importantly clean-smelling.

You glanced up at him, gratefully allowing the swap, while you tried to keep everything down. You were doing a good job now, better with the clean bowl in your hands. A good thing too, you mused silently, for the whole experience had left you exhausted and your body was smarting. Your ribs hurt, your stomach was empty and the only fluid that had left your lips was the green and sour bile from deep within you. You heard how Arthur had left your side again, how he emptied the cup and then washed it.

_You hated this. You wanted for this sickness to be gone._

It was all his fault, you thought angrily. He had done this to you. And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you instinctively knew what was going on. The changes in your body, you felt them.

By the dip of the couch you knew that Arthur had joined you again. His hand returned to the small of your back, gently rubbing it in comforting circles.

You took your time to close your eyes and catch your breath. Why was life such a pain? Why couldn’t things ever go easy and smooth? Why couldn’t you have a little bit of luck in a life already filled to the brim with misfortune.

As you calmed down again you dared to glance at Arthur. He was seated next to you, his hand on your back, but his eyes unfocused, staring at the distance. He was smoking again, the cigarette in his left hand, dragging mindlessly from it and then blowing out the smoke. _Perhaps you could all blame it on having eaten something over date._

Just as you thought you would get no response of him and wanted to turn your head away, he turned his to look at you. What he said next, calm and deliberate, stopped your heart.

“Does the morning sickness trouble you much?”

_What. The. Fuck. _

Your mind raced and your pulse quickened. It felt like your worst nightmare was suddenly coming to life. The one thing you knew was probably so, but had not seen or wanted to see confirmed yet, he had discovered. And you were not ready. Because this was not your choice. And it was not something you could accept to be reality as of yet. You were too young. This would fuck-up your life.

But Arthur didn’t back down. He repeated the question again, just as calm as the time before.

“I said, does the morning sickness trouble you?”

His left hand was moving along with the words as if it would make it better for you to comprehend. Your eyes were trained on the cigarette between his fingers as he did so. Then your eyes flew up to meet his. No jest there. No expression you could read. Just empty green eyes.

“It’s… it’s afternoon,”

“Yes,” he hesitated, his eyes boring deep into yours. “I know.”

_He could not possibly…. “_Arthur, what do you-?”

“You’ve been sick a lot lately,” he started before your mind could even comprehend what was going on. _Oh, you knew he was onto you. _But somehow, because of his delusions, you had assumed you could keep it hidden for a while longer. You had hoped that in his fantasies of you, he would never have imagined this to happen. _Seems you were wrong._ “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he said. “Your taste changed, you’re tired easily, and then you haven't had your period once.”

_Shit_, he’d noticed even _that_?

“Arthur, I-?” What were you going to do to resolve the situation? Was there anything you could do for that matter? Would he be angry at you? Would he want you to get rid of the child? Would he-?

“No, no, no, hush,” he determinedly pressed a finger against your lips to shush you. The warm digit rested oddly erotically against your lips. “I don’t mind. See, I am not angry?”

You felt it was a ridiculous thing for him to say, yet you couldn’t have been more relieved. You didn’t know how he would respond to things most of the times. His mind just made him that much different. You didn’t fully relax at his words and the gentle touch of his finger against your lips, but you weren’t fully tensed either. You waited for him to continue, as it was obvious he had something to say.

Arthur’s lips twitched. At first you thought it would be one of those uncomfortable smiles, but then you saw it was another genuine one. And then his eyes started to sparkle when he parted his lips. “I am happy, truly,” he said, and you thought he was honest. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad. Not that I gave it much thought in the past. But yeah, I think I could do that. I think I’d be a marvellous dad.” He was chuckling now, a genuine amused chuckle.

“What?” He had fantasized about becoming a father then after all, you realised with a start. Worry hit you now because imagining it is one thing, but could he truly? “Arthur!”

“Can you imagine?” He threw his head back on the couch, smiling up at the ceiling while his legs started bobbing up and down again. “A baby,” he genuinely sounded thrilled by the prospect of it. “Not that I thought about it much, perhaps even dreaded becoming a father in the past, but yeah. Now that you’re with child, _our child_, I changed sentiments. And I really do think I could be a very good father.” He looked up at you again, all smiles and wrinkles near his sparking eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

You were left with your lips parted in silence, too stunned to reply. Your hand protectively wandering over to your belly to rest there. _He knew,_ was all that rung and echoed through your mind. _He knew now._

“So anyway,” Arthur said joyfully. He looked like a child if he was like this. Beaming up at you like you’d given him the best present ever. “When were you going to tell me? Or did you want to keep it a secret and surprise me?” He halted to solemnly place a hand on his chest, forcing himself to take on a less excited tone. “I’m sorry if I ruined it if that had been your intention.”

_What?_ “Why would I try and keep it a surprise?” You asked him confused, dumbfounded even. But you couldn’t give it much thought as Arthur blabbered on.

“Thank goodness, I don’t like surprises that much anyway. You never know what’s going to happen next with surprises, and that worries me. Surprises, they say they can be nice. But so far, most surprises I’ve been given have not been kind. Not at all.”

His eyes zoned out, as if bad memories troubled him and clouded his mind. “A fist to the chin, a push to the back, a slimy dissected frog on your seat or worms on your plate at school.”

Another drag from his cigarette. You watched him transfixed, wondering when the stick would be down to a butt. “Most surprises were fists though,” he added it as an afterthought, currently lost in whatever horrid memories haunted him from his youth. “Fists and punches and kicks. Mostly fists though. Mostly to the outside of my body. Sometimes in. Said I needed to be a good boy.” He never once looked at you as he mused out loud, his voice nearly monotonous, his eyes in the distance far away. But then his tone changed, turning lower, more forceful, and he gritted his teeth.  
  
“Well, _haven’t I been_? Haven’t I been a _good boy_? Taking proper care of my mother when that faithless bitch lied about me and my body? Lied about my mind? Oh, she knew what that man did to me! I was only three at the time. Only three! And she let him!”

You did not know what to say. This was the first time Arthur gave you a proper glimpse into his past. You had not know he’d been handled this badly. His dislike for his parents he had made known earlier on in your ‘relationship’. But never had he told you any details. And what you heard now gripped your heart and made another wave of nausea wash over you. _Not just harsh words_, you thought empathetically. _But physical abuse as well. From such a young age onwards._ It was too horrible for words if it were true.

Arthur had raised his voice, the short remnant of his cigarette he pointed harshly in front of him as if it were a weapon, as if he tried to make a point while he took out his anger on the air in front of him. “She knew our father left us for his thousands and millions of dollars and then she went in with this crazy old bastard who thought it was okay to put his hands on me and to punish me with his _cock_! And then she made me forget it. She made me forget it all by saying I was broken. Ha, ha,” No real laughter, just the mocking imitation of someone who would answer to a lame joke. Ha. Ha. _Not_.

But what he said next truly made you freeze in your seat. He turned his head, holding it slightly slanted so his hairs fell to his eyes, obscuring them and darkening them with their shadow at the same time as he smile a painful smile at you, showing all of his teeth like a shark. “Which child wouldn’t be, when they had their heads smashed into a wall and were chained down to a radiator.”

Which child would….Head smashed to a wall, chained to a radiator? You suddenly felt a lack of air, the need to gasp. Your hands went to your own throat in shock. _What the hell had happened to him?_ But he was not done yet.

“I was wrong in my mind she said,” he continued, “But you know what?”

The way he looked at you scared you, so intense, as his voice lowered to a whisper again. “I found out I wasn’t. I wasn’t just mentally ill. I was _made_ ill.”

Here he glanced up at you from under his eyelashes and that devilish smirk took possession of his face again.

“But I know the truth now. I know who my real father is. I know what my _fake_ father did. I know how my mother let me down for over thirty years. But _I _won’t be that person,”

You had heard the emphasis he had lain upon the I in there. He would be different, he made that promise to you now. _Did he mean the person his own parents had been, or did he mean the person he had been forced to be for over thirty or so years? _Was he vouching to be good to you? Your heart broke a little when you realised that no matter what he might believe, as long as he was delusional he probably couldn’t upkeep his promises. After all, he had brought you here, into his home, like part of a fantasy, and he had treated you like that ever since. But his voice droned on, and his hands were upon your upper arms, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to him as he smiled down at you.

“And I know you won’t be like her either,” his voice was a whisper. His eyes traced your face, searching your own for something only you seemed to be able to offer him. Once he had found what he was looking for you saw his lips twitch into another small smile, a content one. And then he drew you close, holding you in his arms, burying your head against his chest. His hands were upon your back again, one higher up between your shoulders, gently stroking you as he pressed you close.

“You won’t be like my mother,” he murmured near your ear. You breathed his scent. His embrace felt comfortable, oddly like your home. He could be. He wanted to be. You knew it was so.

“And I won’t be like either of the men who have been my father. No. We’re going to be different. And I, for once, am not going to let what other people say stand in my way. I am going to be me. And I’m going to be the greatest father that ever lived in this whole stinking town of Gotham. In the whole stinking society beyond. I’m going to make our child smile, you hear me? And our child will be the happiest child in the world.”

You swallowed hard. His speech had sounded so heart-shattering, with the way his voice had differentiated between harsh and determined and small and broken. _Stupid Hormones._ You felt tired and you felt emotional in a way you couldn’t remember you ever had before. Because his small speech had left you with tears pricking your eyes. A thing he seemed to have noticed for you heard the surprise in his voice as he gasped down at you.

“Why are you so quiet, kitten? What’s wrong.”

You fought the tears, fought the feeling of how familiar he was against you, fought how much you craved to be held by someone and to be told you’d be protected. But despite how hard you’d been trying, a single tear managed to escape down your cheek and you felt how Arthur gently used his thumb to brush the tear away. Then he held your head in his hands again and lifted your head to meet his.

“Hush, sweetheart, hush, little girl,” a whisper that made you feel like a child. But oh, how little you felt in his large hands. How little you felt in the emotional prison he built around you each single day. “It’ll all be all right.”

_No,_ you thought, no matter how desperate to believe him._ No, it will not_.

And then you cried. You actually cried against his chest. _Hormones_. You thought. _And the wretched situation he brought me in._ You felt how his fingers brushed through your hair as he tried to comfort you.

“Arthur,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you imagined I-” _Shit._ You bit your lip, aware of the mistake you just made by using that word._ Imagined_.

You felt Arthur’s breath hitch in his throat, the way he scooped you in his arms again while he rested his head on top of yours and cradled you close. You were left in silence for a moment, wondering if he had missed your slip of the tongue while you felt how he gently rocked with you. To and fro. A satisfying, loving motion made to comfort both him and you.

Because as you found out, your words had reached him. And the silence was only due to him taking his time to respond. You heard him wet his lips as he searched for his words. Then, the low murmur as he confessed, “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

You tensed in his arms, not certain what his reply meant, not able to stop the tears that were still spilling down your cheeks and the way it made your body tremble ever so slightly in his arms. You tried to look up at him, only to find him staring down at you.

“I know this isn’t my fantasy any longer,” you weren’t sure if you truly heard the words. But Arthur continued, and his expression betrayed his seriousness. “It started that way. Stupid medicines did something wrong in my head, made me see things that weren’t there, gave me false hope.”

_Wait, did he mean it? Was this what you thought it was? Was he … confessing_? “Arthur?” You pushed yourself against his chest, getting a better view of his eyes so you could see the look in them. But he was staring ahead of him and getting a good view of them was hard.

“My psychiatrists already told me I had delusions. I just never wanted to believe them. But when my medicine started fading, I suddenly became aware of change around me.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “Change?” Your tears began to still.

“People I thought were my friends called me a freak. I thought I was. Things I thought I did I found out I did not. And then, there was you.” He looked down at you again with a dark gaze that sent another shiver down your spine. You’d be emotionally drained after this, you knew that. Too many revelations at once, too many confessions, too many tears. Nevertheless, you lifted your hand and brought it to Arthur’s cheek, feeling the stubble underneath your palm.

“Since when?” You noticed how your voice broke, how weak it sounded now that the tears had taken away some of the strength it had previously still owned. “Since when do you know…”

Arthur caught your hand in his. You’d forgotten about the cigarette but found it was nowhere in sight. He must have gotten rid of it during his talking.

His hand was warm upon your own, pressing your palm gently against his cheek and leaning into your touch. “I think the things that gave it away were rather obvious, my dear. The first time I saw you I told you I’d lost my job, which was something you in my mind already knew. Yet you kept asking me how my job was and if I’d been to work. I deliberately didn’t comment on that. I wanted to see what you would say, what you would do. In a way it was reality check for me to see if you were still real.”

You had to smile at that. Even in your befuddled mind of tears you had to admit that had been clever of him. “Then there was the blood after our sex,” Arthur continued. “I realised only later that it must have been your virgin blood and that you had never slept with a man before, meaning I did not have sex with you before that point in time. I am correct, am I not?”

You nodded sullenly, your cheeks red with embarrassment. _For him to bring that up. Like it was such a big deal._

“In my mind, we had slept together many a time before that day happened. In hindsight it makes sense. Your reluctance, your fear of me.” He turned his head away from you. Was that shame on his behalf you saw on there?

“And then there were the little things, like the scarf you had forgotten at my apartment. It was physical, it was real, and it still was there the next day. The gifts I gave to you, they were still there when you took them home. I saw the flowers in a vase in your parents’ living room. Very inventive to tell them Sophie had gotten them for you for doing such an awesome job. Pity your father replied that she should have given you a raise instead.”

You glared at him. _Had he seen all that?_ You knew he stalked you, had accepted the fact as there was little else you could do. But that he had been watching you at home, even then, to see all of that happen.

Arthur let out a laugh when he saw the dark look you gave him. “Now, now, kitten. Don’t look at me like that. You look quite fetching, even when you’re angry,” here he paused to draw a deep breath before he added with a grin, “even when you’re angry at me.”

You huffed undignified. But Arthur was on a roll and you would not stop him. Not when he finally showed some of his true colours. “The most ordinary things you should know about me you didn’t. I was certain that by now you must have known it all. What I do, what I love, how I have lived. But you were clueless and it showed. Oh, it showed, my sweet girl.” His eyes softened and finally he fell quiet. You let him hold you a little longer before you sat back carefully. Your hand rested upon your belly which felt oddly sore. Perhaps from earlier.

“You knew,” you said, realising that he must have known for a while now.” You knew and yet you risked everything by coming to my house, knowing full well my parents were at home?”

“Yes?” Arthur replied, blinking as he cocked his head. He made himself comfortable on the couch once more, the creaking of the springs within the couch accompanying his movement. He rested his elbow on the back of the couch, resting his cheek against his fist as he looked at you. “Well, why are you surprised?”

“That isn’t normal,” your voice cracked but it was enough for him to interfere.

“Well, pardon me. I was just checking on my girl who had me worried. Wandering around town carrying precious cargo.”

_Wait, what?_ “You knew,” you whispered, astonished by what he had just said. “You knew I was pregnant. Even then? You knew I was real? This, this was all real. And you consciously decided to go along with it? To make me carry your child?” You gritted your teeth as memories of the past weeks surfaced. Memories of things he had done that no man should be allowed to do.

You were full ready to attack him for that, even if it was just with words. Blame him, hit him, whatever. But when you locked eyes with him you saw no remorse, no pity, no malice. Just love.

And you could not attack him like this. Not when you felt tired and wanted nothing more then to head to your own bed, sleep a little, think it all over.

You looked down at your hands shyly. Suddenly, the whole image you had of him had changed. The man you had thought to be guided by faults of his own mind didn’t appear to be as vulnerable nor as innocent as you had presumed. If he was aware of what was going on, if he had chosen to go along with it, if he thought it fine, then what did that make of him? _No kind words came to mind to fill in the blanks._

Arthur, sensing your distress, placed a kiss against your temple. His hand holding your head to draw you close. “I’ll take good care of you and our baby,” he whispered. “I _promise_.”

His hands then slid down until they rested upon your tummy, as if he were feeling for the swell of a child despite it being early days. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, enjoying the feel of the little miracle that was there, protected by your womb and your body.

You let him touch you like this, listening to his steady breathing by your side and the only other whisper that escaped him. “_A baby_,” and nothing more.

\--

Your weekend drudged by. Your Saturday was spent in tears as you tried to please your father by actually going to see Mrs Christenson, then by helping out your mum with some of her tasks. Because you were afraid of being at home alone while your parents would go to the cemetery to place some new flowers on the family grave, you went along with them. Despite being tired and cold, you dressed up in several layers and cast one final glance over your shoulder at your window. It was closed.

When you returned later that evening you found your room seemingly untouched. Perhaps Arthur had come to his senses somewhat and had kept to his promise. Perhaps he really could live a day without you.

But then Sunday you met up with him in a dingy coffeeshop. He took hold of your arm and, like a couple, he walked you to the park where he sat on a bench with you and the two of you discussed little tits and tats of the news. The occasional flutter of his hand which came to rest on your tummy didn’t go by unnoticed. He was touching you more, looking down at your belly more openly now that you had spoken about it.

Your time in the park ended in him staring at you intently and then, out of nowhere, while you were still talking about something you’d heard on the news, he suddenly proclaimed how much he loved you and the unborn child you held. So convinced he was, you let him kiss your lips fiercely and accepted his tight hug and moans of dedication.

He took you to his home again swiftly afterwards, worshipped you on his couch and bed. He had even made you a little snack before you went home, claiming he needed to take good care of _mother and child_. Then he had laughed. A silly laugh. A high laugh. But you weren’t certain it was a pained one.

Then he walked you home and under the cover of dusk, you kissed him goodbye and joined your parents at the dining table to listen to your father’s complaints about how you should take Mrs Christenson’s job and leave Sophie behind. And like nothing untoward had happened, you sat and meekly ate your meal, smiling up at your mother once your father had left the table and promised her once again that you’d be a good girl. _As if you still could be after all that Arthur had done to defile you._

Monday arrived much too soon. You went to work but didn’t tell Sophie about your father’s pushes towards a new employer. You liked her, you didn’t want to screw up and you didn’t want to leave. Instead, you put all your energy in playing fun games with Gigi, appreciating once more how marvellous a child she was – and wondering if your own child would develop this way. She was bright for her age, she loved to play games and run around wild, playing all sorts of historical figures such as princesses and knights and dragons. And dinosaurs.

You noticed that you weren’t as fit as you had been in previous months. Chasing Gigi had you huffing and puffing for air a few times, and you even had to sit down at one point. But you enjoyed your time with her too much to let it dampen your spirits and so you pushed yourself up to your feet again to chase her.

You only had to throw up once that day. It was when you entered the inventory. This happened now every damn time when you entered there. And though you couldn’t point out a foul smell, somehow something must be in the air to trigger your vomit.

_Luckily, Gigi believed you when you told her it was bad food. Again._

Much too soon the day was over and you knew Arthur would be expecting you. So you said your goodbyes to Sophie and Gigi and, dressed in your coat and scarf, you made your way to the door.

But this time, unlike all those times before, Sophie didn’t close the door behind you. She stood in the door opening, much like she had done the very first day when you’d worked for her and she had told you the elevator was broken and you better use the stairs. Instantly you felt alarmed. _This had only happened once before_. And the change confused you.

_Was she watching for Arthur_? Last Friday she had told you she didn’t trust her neighbour and that she would see you out. _Oh my God, she hasn’t seen me last Friday, has she? _You thought alarmed. Had she seen you enter Arthur’s apartment?

But then you reminded yourself that if she had she’d probably had said something about it during the day. And she hadn’t. She wasn’t looking at you sceptically or suspicious either. She just stood there with a warm smile.

Determined not to give her a cause to be suspicious, you decided to walk past Arthur’s apartment, head to the elevator, use it to go down, wait a few minutes, then go back up again to meet with Arthur. You didn’t want him to worry or grow angry like last time when you had failed to show up on time. You didn’t want him to come visit you at your home again.

_Yeah, you could pull this off. Smoothly_, Sophie watched you closely and so you flashed her a careful smile and made your way to the elevator.

It must have been your steps that alerted Arthur, or the ping of the elevator doors. Whatever it was, he knew you had passed his apartment because his apartment door flew open, revealing Arthur with a scowl on his face. One hand was resting on the doorpost, the other with fingers spread pushing against the hard wood of the door.

_Your heart stopped._

Before you, the elevator doors opened and the light from within illuminated your face, your eyes wide with shock, your hand still hovering for the elevator button.

“Hey!” Sophie called out.

Arthur looked at her in surprise. Your heart beat loudly in your chest. _Thank God he hadn’t had the chance to speak yet or you’d be having a lot of explaining to do._

You quickly clutched the handles of your bag, stepping into the elevator with your back to the two, and squeezed your eyes shut. _This was a nightmare._

As if to make matters worse, you felt ripples of nausea flitter through your stomach, all the way up to your chest. You quickly raised your hand in a fist, holding it up before your lips as you tried to keep everything in. The retching motion must have been visible to the others, but you hoped they were too busy with staring at each other rather than looking at you.

You heard Sophie’s voice, harsher than she ever used it in her own home, harsher than she’d ever sounded when she spoke to Gigi when she’d done something really bad.

“Mr Fleck,” _Oh God,_ the tone of her voice was low and menacing and enough to send shivers up your spine. “_That_ is _my_ nanny you see walking there. I do hope you opening your door was a coincidence.” 

That was the moment that you realised she knew. Whether it was just a suspicion or a full-blown knowing. Sophie was onto him and somehow, knowing this, you felt your chest grown warm and the corners of your lips twist into a smile.

_Clever of her. She knew._

And as the door closed behind you, you prayed that her intervention would be enough and that Arthur would leave you alone for the remainder of the day. Then you lurched forward and steadied yourself. You felt too sick to please him anyway.

\-- ** --

~Bonus~

\-- ** --

Danger was always nearer than he was prepared to admit. But his neighbour Sophie was turning into quite the nuisance. After Arthur had ensured her in his most gallant and innocent voice – she had said she didn’t buy it and would be watching him despite all of his best efforts- she had slammed her door closed and he was left standing there like a fish, gaping and not certain whether there had been any way he could have won the argument he had had with her.

After casting one final glance at the closed elevator doors he knew you were gone. But when he closed his apartment door he nevertheless rested his head against it and stood waiting. Fifteen minutes, twenty? Who knows. He had held hope that you would have been waiting downstairs for them to quiet down and come up when the coast was clear. But you didn’t.

He suppressed his chuckles when he threw on his coat, then took his keys and silently slid out of his apartment. He had the feeling Sophie might be on the look out for him, but her door was closed and once he was outside, he looked up at the window of her apartment and didn’t see her. She might be too busy with that gorgeous daughter of her.

_Gorgeous. _Well, soon he’d be having a daughter or son to look after himself. And _his child_ would be _gorgeous_ too.

With a huff and his hands buried deep within the pockets of his coat, he had gone out into the chilly autumn air of the evening. And he had wandered through the twilight to your home where he watched as you and your parents sat down for dinner.

He contemplated going into your room to wait for you there, but then thought against it. You seemed tired, he could tell even through the window and from the distance he was at. And all he wanted for you was to eat healthy and get your rest so your child would grow.

So instead of waiting for you, all he did was leave a handwritten note on your pillow. Written on your own notebook paper with one of the many pens you had laying around your desk, it read a small but sweet message.

** _I wont tire you toniht. Sweet dreams for you nd our baby ☺_ **

Arthur flipped the card between his fingers. There was so much more he wanted to say to you. Like how he missed you, how much he loved you. But, after placing a kiss against the little note, he placed it on your pillow and left it like that.

The walk home was swift. He had been so caught up in his own mind he hadn’t noticed he was already home until his head nearly hit the door of his apartment building.

Upon entering his apartment he dressed down slightly, took up a cigarette again and lay down on the bed, determined to get the relief he had been deprived of today. His thoughts were all on you.

“_My baby,”_ he silently said, followed by soft laughter. Then he called out into nothingness. “Can you imagine it, mother?" He looked up at the ceiling, raising his voice. "I am to become a dad. A _real _dad. A father much better than you ever provided me with.”

As he spoke his words to empty air, they grew harsher, and ended in a bitter laugh. He subdued his own conditioned laughter, pushing his hand hard against his shoulder to keep him down on the bed that had once belonged to his mom. Groaning, he lay his head back down again. His mind raked over the many hindrances ahead of him. How to keep you close with your father dreading to interfere. And then there was Sophie.

“She can’t take you from me,” he whispered. “Never.”

And as he spoke, his fingers slipped lower and down beneath his shirt and inside his underpants. Thoughts of you swirled before his eyes. _Hmm, today just the thought of you had to do._ He knew it would be no problem. He had come to completion merely thinking of you many times before. His hand stroked his member expectedly, bringing it to life to fantasies of you; swollen with his child, laughing as you walked the street hand in hand with his children, crawling over him in scant lingerie.

Yes, he definitely needed to do something about his nosey neighbour and your parents.

“What to do? What to do?” He murmured. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag.

Then, his phone rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadum Tadum...... People have asked me whether this follows the course of the film (yes, loosely as I made some time mistakes at the start, but by now, the tale has synchronised) and when we're going to see Joker. We're counting down the days people. Count down along with me. You know when shit will hit the fan.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can remain a secret.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU: Shit’s about to go lose. Keep counting down with me till Mister J.

**Before  
  
\--**

Sophie’s hand was trembling on the horn of the phone so much, that she hoped her words would still be decipherable at the other end of the line.

“You don’t understand, I fear for her. He is not to be trusted, my neighbour,” she said, her voice trembling and nearly breaking into a whisper. Then a pause. “Sure, sir, I can give you the address. His name is Arthur Fleck.”

\--

\--

**Chapter 7**

\--

Coming home that Monday evening you felt the heavy weight of dread deep within the pit of your stomach. Along with the current nausea, it wasn’t helping you as you greeted your parents and sat down to eat. No matter how delicious the food your mother cooked, taking a bite was hard and swallowing seemed even harder.

You were tired and anxious after having avoided your daily meet-up with Arthur Fleck. Would he truly leave you alone? How about last time? He had come around to your house when you’d skipped on him, even if it had been unintentional. What would he do this time?

You glanced at your parents to see how they were engaged in talk about the day. _Good. _Your own thoughts quickly slid back to deeper depths. Arthur hadn’t sounded thrilled when you had crossed his front door and ignored him. But then again, Sophie had been there to gallantly guard your back. Would he have harmed her for it? Now that was a new thought that made swallowing your meal a lot harder than it already was. _No, he wouldn’t, would he? _

But then again, who could guarantee that a mind as unstable as Arthur’s wouldn’t come up with some kind of logical excuse to justify his deeds. _No_, better not think of how strong those muscles were that he had. Better not think of him like that, because you knew his strength whenever he took you into his home and onto his couch or bed. He wasn’t as weak as his body implied him to be._ Better not think of physical harm…._

Trying to focus your mind on other things of the day didn’t seem to work though. Even though you tried very hard to think of the funny things Gigi had said, Arthur kept popping up in your head. You feared that he would come over to your house again, and during the entirety of the meal, you kept thinking of what you would say to him or what you could do to keep him calm if he did. It made you eat less, and your parents seemed to notice that you were distracted. You missed how many times your mother had called your name before you finally looked up at her and blinked.

She looked worried. “Is everything all right, dear?”

_Well, you have had a tough day_.

“Sorry, I’m tired,” you whispered as an apology, and focused on your food again. You did not want to insult her by eating so little. The only positive side effect of your distracted mind, that you could think of, was the way your father decided to leave you alone during dinner. Usually he’d be telling you how to get a better job, he'd be chiding you for your choices, telling you who you would be better off working for, anyone else rather than Sophie. You counted his silence on the subject as a blessing.

After dinner you instantly went to your room and sported a sigh of relief when you saw he wasn’t there as you had feared he would be. You stretched lightly, and still cautiously, turned on your night lamp and shifted through some of the notes that you had left lying around on your desk. The fear that Arthur would still pop up at any moment was gnawing at you, but you tried to ignore it. Today was going to be your day, you tried to tell yourself firmly. This evening, you would go to bed early and take care of yourself, of your body, of the baby growing in your belly. Arthur be damned. This night was yours.

But then you gasped when you saw the note on your pillow and your veins turned to ice. With a hand, you lifted it to read it. And that was when, with your hand covering your mouth, you started to cry. Because _damn him_. The note was _almost sweet._ It at the very least told you he’d leave you alone for the night which was what you had secretly wished for and wanted_. But damn him_. He had come into your room again anyway. _How dare he do that again_! If anything it had proven once again that your instinct had been right. _He would not leave you alone_. He kept a tight grip on your life.

You carefully placed the note on your desk and walked over to your window, brushing the curtains aside to look outside for traces of him. But either he was that good at hiding, or he was long gone. And after a while, you decided to close the curtains and put on your pyjamas. Even if he was still out there, watching you, what could you do? You wanted sleep and needed it, so you’d better take it. And in a way, having read the note made you feel like you could relax now because on it was a promise to leave you alone for the night. No physical contact, no sudden Arthur in your window – _right?_ Although you doubted whether he could keep his word, you tried to trust it, and with a sigh of relief you sat down on your bed and tried to steady your mind, focus your thoughts.

Of course, when you finally managed to relax your muscles, it had to well up again. That horrible nauseous feeling that you could not fight. You stumbled as fast as you could to the bathroom to throw up. Just in time, you managed to expertly curl your hair on top of your head and out of the way, like you had_ trained_ yourself to do in the past few days. _An expert, _you thought sarcastically. _Tsk._ As if it was such a useful skill. You humoured yourself by imagining telling your old school friends about it. It was a funny thought, because in what situation would curling your hair out of your face in record time be a good skill to own? In a hair bun competition? Or in a fire? The thoughts made you smile wryly in between the lurches.

A shadow fell over you. _Oh no_. But darn, you could not stop it. You hunched over again, emptied another load whilst pitying yourself inside your mind. _Why? For Godsake, why did she have to come in now?_ Because your mother stood in the bathroom doorway. She stood there, calmly, looking down at you with her arms folded in front of her chest. But here gaze wasn’t judging. It was just concern. _You instantly knew she was onto you_.

“Want to be honest with me?” she asked in a quiet voice, gentle even, once you finished vomiting and the heaving got less intense. _Uh-Oh_.

You looked up at her with tears in your eyes, whether from the physical effort or from the effect of the hormones, who cares? Would it do to say no? Or to lie here? But then again, did you want to? You had to tell your parents about the pregnancy sooner or later, and you had always dreaded the moment. Now it seemed the moment could no longer be postponed, so you took the plunge.

“Can I?” You realised how small your voice sounded, and how incredibly scared you felt now that you had come to the point where you could not hide or pretend any longer.

To your surprise, your mother merely nodded before unfolding her arms and picking you up from the floor. You’d expected for her to start asking questions first, before offering comfort, if she would offer any at all. But to your amazement, she helped you flush the toilet and then prepared a wet cloth to wash away the sick from your face. And she wasn’t doing it in an angry fashion either. Her actions were incredibly gentle, and her care was so sweet, so unexpected, so much like you had hoped – that it made you cry once more.

_Ugh, stupid hormones. Could you not switch them off for a while? _

You felt how your mother supported you by your arms, guiding you towards your bedroom and placing you on the bed. She didn’t comment on the way you were sobbing or how awful you must look now with red puffy eyes and probably a runny nose. Your mind felt clouded and heavy, even thoughts of Arthur had a hard time coming through.

But your mom was surprisingly gentle and patient with you. She sat down on the bed with you and helped you place your head on her lap. She ran her fingers gently through your hair in smoothing motions, comforting your nerves. Her soft whisper that everything would be all right seemed like a siren's lullaby to your ears. It was odd to hear your mom promising that she would be there for you. Whispering sweetly to you that you could tell her anything, that she wouldn’t be mad, that it would be okay, all the while stroking your hair, your head, your shoulders, as you cried against her.

_What had you been so afraid of that you had not approached her about any of this before?_

Your fears suddenly seemed far away and foreign. You gradually felt the tears become less and your heart quieting down. “I- I think I’m pregnant mom,” your voice broke, you hiccupped, and you still daren’t look at her. But when you did at her prolonged silence, there wasn’t anger in her eyes or disappointment. There was just love.

_Huh? How could that be?_

You had taken a deep breath and tried again. “I- I’m pregnant, mom. I- I didn’t want it. Not to h-happen like this. I wanted to go to college first, study, make a career. I didn't do it on purpose, mom, I swear. I....”

Your mother watched you in silence for just a beat, then wrapped her arms around you once more and pulled you against her in an embrace. “Oh, my sweet girl. I am so sorry! I should have been there for you. I should have helped you in this. I am sorry. But it’s going to be okay, you’ll see. We can manage. Whether it’s just the three of us, or whether there’s four,” and that last sentence, accompanied by a smile and a hand resting on your tummy, broke you. This was your mother. She made you feel safe and secure like you hadn’t felt in ages. And so you told her. _You fucking told her._

“It was a man, I didn’t know him, he just appeared, took me against my will, made me see him after work. I tried to fight but I’m not a fighter mom. I couldn’t, I couldn’t fight him. So I let him. In fear of what would happen. I knew it was going wrong, knew he could make me pregnant and he did. And, and I don’t know where to hide. He’s, he knows where I live and what I do. He knows where I work and when. He’s, he’s not normal, mom. He’s not normal.”

You looked up at her. Had she made sense of what you just said? Had it not sounded like the rambling of a child? Why were all of your insecurities always immediately replaced by new ones?

You had not wanted to tell her all the details, who he was, that he was delusional. You feared what would happen if your parents knew it all. They would surely prevent you from visiting him. But wasn't that what you had wanted from the start? Someone to stop you from going in to deep? Then again, why did the thought of not seeing Arthur pain your heart? And why did you worry about what he would think or how he would feel if you stopped seeing him? Was it because of his angry voice when you had passed his door today? Or the pain you'd seen so often in his eyes whenever you had said or done something he hadn't liked?  
  
But when your mother lacked surprise, you knew something was off. You watched her as she looked at you with little surprise on her face, and then she frowned and reached for your hand. “Do you know who this man is? Can you tell me?”

You had said too much already. Why couldn't you have kept it vague? You could have said boy, rather than man. Would that have been better? Your mind was still in a struggle. If you told her, would she involve the police? Would Arthur go wild? Would he harm them? You shook your head and looked at your joined hands while you thought. Could you get away by keeping him nameless, give him extra time to warn him so he wouldn’t go mad now that other people knew? Should you twist your own words and lie, tell her that you loved this man and that you were happy with him just so it would keep them save? But wasn’t it a bit too late for that? Wasn’t-?  
  
Your mother broke your train of thoughts by cupping your cheeks carefully in her hands, effectively making you raise your eyes to meet hers. Her expression was still soft, but you could tell she was hiding the pain underneath. And then her voice came out, low and gentle, but demanding at the same time. “Was he Ms Dumond’s neighbour?”

_How the hell did she know?_

Yes, you nodded. And “yes”, you whispered as fresh tears began to trail down your cheeks. But you hardly noticed it. “How do you-? Mother?”

“Mister Arthur Fleck,” it was only now that you heard his voice, that you realised your father stood in your doorway. How much of the conversation had he been witness to? Would he throw you out for ending up pregnant, like he so often had threatened to do if you decided to whore yourself out?

“Sophie Dumond’s neighbour. Picking you up after your services,” he continued, and all you could do was watch as your father pushed himself away from the doorpost, while you cuddled yourself closer to your mother’s side. “Blackmailing you into seeing him in the weekends.” He looked pointedly at you, but you found no voice to reply.

“I have apologised to Ms Dumond as I should to you. Apparently I was wrong about her. I thought that working overtime for such a meagre salary was the sign of a bad employer, but it figures, she paid you quite handsomely for the hours that you _did_ work. Or indeed for those that you _didn’t_.” You instantly knew he referred to the few times Sophie had returned home early. She could have paid you less those days, but she hadn't. She had still paid you the full hours.

_So he knew now._

“I-I’m sorry,” you managed through sobs. You had wanted for it to sound firmer, more sincere, but your voice trembled. Nothing about this revelation felt heroic.

But then your father shook his head and his voice turned softer. “I can’t say I wasn't angry with you. Angry and disappointed. When your mom and I found out that you were showing pregnancy symptoms, we had a good talk. I was in favour of throwing you out onto the street. But now- Hah.” He sounded angry and you flinched. Yet he continued, “Now,” and softer again, “Now I know the truth. That man threatened you, didn’t he? No need to deny it. You had a witness.”

Your eyes flew wide. You had?

“Gigi has heard things that should not be repeated. I spoke to Ms Dumond on the phone earlier and I must say I was wrong about her. She seems like a delightful employer. Very worried about you too. She warned me for this man, this Arthur Fleck. Tell me, are you scared of him?”

You nodded before you gave it any thought. Were you? Truly? Or had you gone along in all of this because you had enjoyed it. You couldn't deny that you had started to love the feel of him. Did that mean you love him? Can you be scared of someone you love? You didn’t quite know what was reality any more or what was make believe at this point, but your father had seen your nod and it was enough.

You felt your mother’s arms curl around you even tighter, but comforting. She placed a gentle kiss on your head.

“Don’t you worry about him,” your father told you as he sat down on the other side of you on the bed to join the group cuddle. “You’re going to be safe from now on. We’re going to help you.”

\--

It was raining cats and dogs outside when Tuesday arrived. You stepped through the drizzle and made your way to Sophie’s apartment as Arthur watched you from above. The little red umbrella above your head a bright spot on the otherwise grey street below.

He knew he would have quite a bit of time to kill before he’d see you again. _Ah, but when he did he had such great news to tell you! _Excited at the thought, he wrung his hands together and tried to calm himself down. Better not get too jittery. You had to work for another six hours. And he knew how to fill his time.

He glanced at the room in front of him. The television was showing static, a recording already at the ready from the Murray show. His notebook was on the small table in front of him. A fresh pack of cigarettes was to his left. With a deep breath he straightened his spine and spread his arms.

_Nah, that wouldn’t do_. Annoyed he watched the archway to the kitchen. It was all too open somehow, and not realistic enough. Stumbling around the apartment, he came up with one of his mother’s favourite table cloths, which was one of the first things he came across. A white sheet with yellow and green patterns like flowers. He always thought they looked more like misshapen pictures of corn. It wasn’t pretty, but it would work.  
  
He pinned the plastic table cloth above the archway, effectively turning it into a curtain simulator. And with a sigh of relief and a deep drag of a fresh cigarette, he observed his work.

“Yeah, that will work.” With a sly smile, because he felt like he was already getting in character for his performance, he turned to watch one of the Holy Mary icons he had taken off the wall. “You impressed yet?” He asked, then chuckled as he looked away and sat down on the table in the middle of the living room.

“Wow, my own girl…” He muttered while he rubbed his thumb past his eyebrow, his cigarette held at a careful distance between his fingers. “My own baby. My own family.”

His thoughts were filled with you, almost constantly. But now with his medicines gone it wasn’t just daydreams. He knew when he thought and he knew when he saw you for real, and that made his mind so much clearer. _Yes,_ he felt like his life made sense _now._ Like he had found _his purpose_.

And that alone, felt great.

“Okay, time to start,” he muttered to himself. He had dressed in his finest suit again. Everything in mind to impress you and the audience he’d be entertaining. All he needed was the pretence. All he needed was to perfect his skills and he _too _could charm the audience, he was certain of it.

He stood up and practiced his imaginary entrance to the Murray Franklin Show. How would he do it if he hadn’t practiced anything yet? He gave it a go.

_Well, that was just bloody awful and awkward_. He needed to work it more. He tried again, imagining a crowd in his living room, waving, forcing a smile, and then groaning in frustration when he thought of you. It didn’t feel good enough. So he went looking through his notes. _Smile. Address the audience. Look smart_. He filled his time well and was fully focused when the doorbell rang and pulled him out of his concentration.

“What the?” he muttered, glancing up at the clock. It was way too early for you to be at his door. He’d hardly been practicing for an hour. Another chime, as if this visit was urgent. Arthur stumbled towards the door, gritting his teeth in frustration at the bad timing. Had something happened to you? Or did you just miss him?

“Coming,” he shouted as hope and worry fluttered in his chest. Normally he would check through the peeping hole to see who was there but perhaps his broken concentration and the feelings he currently hosted made him reckless. Because without checking, his hand was on the knob and he pulled the door open.

Fear instantly crawled along his spine. _It wasn’t you_.

It wasn’t someone he could have expected either.

There, in front of him, was a man he knew all too well, from his name and birth details up to his evening rituals and daily habits. He had studied him meticulously, his obsession with the man’s daughter had made him look up as much about the man as he could.

In front of him was your father. And he didn’t look all too pleased.

_Shit._ How did that happen? Had you told him? Did he know? Was Arthur to react like he knew him or?

It needed some quick thinking, but Arthur deduced that officially, they had never been properly introduced. And if he wanted to come across as ‘normal’ and as compatible as a match for you, then he would have to pretend like he had no idea what your father looked like. If he freaked him out now, lesser the chances of having a good relationship with his father-in-law. He didn’t want to ruin his ongoing chances of seeing you, of maintaining what he had slowly come to understand _was not a healthy_ relationship. _Oh, he knew he was wrong._ But really, was he able to stop it now that it had gone this far?

His lips parted in a silent sigh, confusion riddled his face. “Can I help you sir?” _Ah, such a sweet performance. _But he needn’t have bothered.

“So you are him,” your father said, eyeing Arthur intensely. “Arthur Fleck.”

His face betrayed little emotion. Perhaps the initial sign of displeasure Arthur had sensed had just been his usual grumpy demeanour. That could be it! Arthur had a lot of difficulty reading others before, so why not now? And wait, your father knew Arthur’s name? _So you had told your father about him?_ Hope spread once more across Arthur’s chest.

“Pardon me, sir?” Arthur played it well, feigning absolute innocence. “You obviously heard of me. Dare I ask who you are?” Arthur had to admit the opportunity of finally talking to your father and admitting his feelings for you wasn’t one to let go. This was going to be the moment where he would find out if your father was going to support the match, or if he had to find a way around him.

Your father would have faltered at that, at seeing his innocent doe eyes. Truthfully, he would have reacted wholly different if you hadn’t told him so much about this man. About how emaciated he looked but how strong he was. He had been warned by Sophie and by you that Arthur could be more dangerous than he appeared to be. And he was being extra cautious, because Sophie had mentioned he possibly had a gun.

Arthur at the door seemed small to him, meagre, not able to fend him off. But then he swiftly remembered that this was the man who had done inexplicable things to his daughter. And he entered Arthur’s apartment without being invited in, stepping at a wide range from Arthur who he left baffled at the door.

He turned on his heels in the middle of the room. His eyes fledged over his surroundings, taking in the details of the artful paintings that stood on the floor, the pinkish decoration of the walls and the pornographic magazine lying around carelessly on the living room table.

Arthur watched your father’s bold entrance, then stared at the now empty hallway for a moment longer before he smiled and, whilst shaking his head, carefully shut the door. _This smelled like trouble._

“How can I help you, sir?” Arthur started, but your father was swifter and killed his sentence before he had even reached the end. He swiftly turned to Arthur and pointed at him. “You.”

Your father had been quickly glimpsing around, seeing the feminine colours and wallpaper and noticing the mess on the floor. A small, dingy apartment, with mouse traps in the seedy looking hallway that had led up to it. Not the kind of place he would have wanted to find the man who had been involved with his daughter in. Then there were the pornographic magazines, another vague sign. It was all extremely out of the ordinary to him, and he wondered just who this man he was visiting was. This already older man, who stood smiling innocently in front of him like he had done no harm. _The nerve!_ Somehow he could tell that Arthur Fleck was just faking it. The whole situation enraged your father and, seeing no sign of the gun, he took a punt at it.

“You’re a grown man,” your father started, gesturing at Arthur who seemed to be growing smaller and smaller as your father barked at him. “You’re a _damn _grown man. When Sophie told me it was a man who still lived with his mother I had hoped you’d be one of those teen boys, perhaps early twenties. Incapable of knowing yet what the world had to offer. Foolish, naïve. But you’re not. You deliberately exploited my daughter. You took her without her consent.” And that _did hurt._

Arthur sought the arm of his couch and sat down on it as his legs suddenly felt like they could not support him any longer. So it had come down to this, huh? He couldn’t say that he didn’t understand or blamed your father. He would have done the same had it been his daughter in a situation like this. Probably would do worse. But that didn’t soften the words your father shouted at him. Nor the impact it had on his feelings.

He knew he was wrong. He knew he had done bad things. He also knew he didn’t like to stop. And he also knew that he had been so joyful, only a moment ago, by the possible prospect of the happiness you could bring him. The girl he loved, the child that was promised to him. And to hear your father say that he took you without consent? You had sat on top of him that first time. You had told him you loved him plenty of times after. Was that wrong? Was that-?

He knew his mind couldn’t handle it, knew and felt it by the way his body had started to tremble. And although he tried to stop it, the first signs of giggling escaped him. Not long now and it would be full-blown laughter. _Shit,_ he had lost every chance he had! He was not normal, not like this. _And seriously, did he still want to be?_

“My child, let me tell you, my daughter is a bright young woman who has many plans for herself. She’s smart and intelligent. I can’t give her the money she needs to get into college but that doesn't mean she shouldn't be in there. She’s working hard, trying to find a decent place for herself, trying to bring herself up the social ladder and out of this putrid hole that is Gotham. But now you,” here he pointed at Arthur accusingly again. But Arthur was in no state to reply. He was still wheezing and chuckling.

He covered his mouth with both hands now. His back was curled, his head hunched between his shoulders. _Good God_.

“You take that chance away from her. You ruin her chances. What are you? Some kind of pimp? What kind of wicked plans did you have in mind for her after this? Because let me tell you, whatever your intentions might be, they sure as hell ain’t honourable. And I hope, Mister Fleck, that what you did here was just _a mistake_. And that you will let her go now. You are not to deter her in life any further. You’re not to come within her reach. You’re not to speak to her. Not to even stare at her when she passes on her way to work. You have done enough. And it has surely been enough to ruin her life-”

_Now that was too much_. Ruin? He never set out to ruin your life or anything. The idea of not being able to be close to you had Arthur laughing uncontrollably. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he clutched his chest painfully with his fist. _You ruined her life,_ had he?

“And you’re laughing. You’re just laughing!” Your father’s voice skipped a notch, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. “How dare you laugh at her misfortune!”

Arthur fumbled around in his pockets but inwardly cursed. The card wasn’t there, it was still in his yellow vest. He needed to give it, needed to explain, like his habit was. He crouched over the couch to his yellow vest and searched the pockets with his hands, occasionally reaching for his windpipe because laughing hurt. It felt like he was suffocating. _Need that card,_ his mind provided him. Nearly, but not entirely, overwriting the scared thought that he had possibly lost you.

“You, what are you? Some kind of freak who fancies fresh-out-of-school girls? Some kind of pimp? Threatening her to come over to your apartment after work so you could have your way with her? You think that is funny, huh? You think that is normal for a man your age? Look at me, Arthur, look _at me_.”

But Arthur’s fingers were still deftly fumbling their way around his pockets. His eyes averted, downcast and clouded by tears. “Ha-Ha,” he sounded like a goddamn donkey on helium. Why couldn’t he just stop and cry instead?

“You don’t even dare to look me in the eyes because you know what you did was criminal. Ah yes,” your father continued, relinquishing in the feel of having the upper hand. “You know what you did was perverted and wrong. You think you’re above the law because in Gotham cops don’t help a goddamn soul. But you’re mistaken. My daughter happens to come from a loving family. She has us. And we won’t let this ruin her life any longer. Whatever game this is to you, it ends now, mister Fleck. With or without law involved.”

_Yes_, finally he had reached it. He pulled the laminated card free and reached with his arm, offering it to your father, who glanced at it with one eyebrow sceptically raised. But he did not take it. “She told me about your _supposed_ condition but I have a hard time believing such a thing even exists.”

Arthur managed to look up now. The tears in his eyes still obscuring most of his view. The laughter didn’t die down yet and his body still shook and trembled. He didn’t lower his arm holding the card, but he did try to swallow and speak.

It was to no avail. His throat was locked, his voice still a hostage of the suffocation he felt by his laughter.

“I won’t take pity on you,” your father said, his eyes turning hard. “Let me make it absolutely clear that a man like you is unfit to take care of a girl like my daughter. Let alone of the child that has come of this. And as so, you will take your distance from her and refrain from ever contacting her or the child ever again.”

_His child. _Alarm bells went off inside Arthur's head. Pure rage filled his veins at those words. Your father’s threats had been soft so far, perhaps expected. But this demand that he would leave you and the child to yourself? That he would be uninvolved? It triggered something inside of him. Something mean and violent. 

“You can’t. You can’t do that,” he finally managed to choke between gasps and laughs. “That’s my girl and my child!”

And now that seemed to trigger your father, who crossed the space between him and Arthur and halted in front of the couch. He hoisted Arthur up by his collar, surprised at the light frame the other man had, and shook him until the man stilled. Even his laughter died down somewhat at the rough treatment.

“She’s also MY girl,” your father’s words came out loud and clear and straight at Arthur’s face. Little droplets of phlegm covered Arthur's nose and cheeks while he flinched. He tried to make himself small as he was used when he was under attack. “Just, I just want what’s good for her. And judging by the look of your apartment,” - your father didn’t say ‘and you’ even though Arthur could feel he implied that, - “you’re clearly incapable of providing a safe haven for her.”

Arthur expected to be hit, to be beaten badly, but your father sat him back down on the couch instead. He looked up at your father, half-expecting another bout of shouting, but to his surprise, your father’s eyes softened. “How will you be able to protect her from Gotham?” he whispered to Arthur, “When you cannot even protect her from yourself?”

Truth, Arthur instantly knew this was truth. But a truth he was eager to deny. And he pushed himself off the couch, straightened his spine as his lips twisted and curled into an ugly snarl. “Now listen, sir!”

“You listen,” your father retorted, “I advise you to stay away from her. It is an advise I will only give once.”

Having said all that he wanted, and possibly trying to avoid a nastier outcome now that he felt his own self-control slip away, your father looked down at Arthur for a moment, then made an attempt to turn around and head for the door. But Arthur was quicker.  
  
Arthur leaped at him, flung his arms around your father’s neck in an attempt to strangle him. Your father felt the attack land and instantly responded. He turned around, spun on his heels, and bend forward, taking Arthur with him until the latter hit his head against the corner of the small table.

_Bang. _

Unintentional it had been, but the welcome effect of the way your father had dipped low was that Arthur was now injured and his grip on your father loosened as a result. Your father set him down and instantly distanced himself. He knew this was his chance to get away.

Seeing stars and dizzily bringing a hand to his now running nose, Arthur reached up to carefully touch his upper lip. Blood dripped from his nose down to his red waistcoat. His nicest, most expensive waistcoat which he had wanted to wear at the show.

“See,” was all your father said, but his eyes weren’t soft any longer. They were wild now, wild and rabid. “You couldn’t care for her. _You need help_. And she needs _protection_.”

And with that said, he turned around and, whilst glancing cautiously over his shoulder, left the apartment.

Arthur was fine with that.

He let your father leave_. Sure,_ he had many fantasies fleeting through his mind just now. It would only take a small leap to the side table to pick up a fruit knife and plant it in your father’s back. He could reach over for his gun and shoot your old man. But in the end it wouldn’t do.

He was your father after all, and you had said before that you cared about him. _Well,_ unless that was a lie too. _No_, he should not think that way. Your father's accussations couldn’t possibly be real. You loved him, he was certain of it.

Still numb from the encounter with your father and banging his head on the table by accident, he rose from the couch and slowly made his way to the door which he carefully closed after your father had left it ajar. _Careless,_ he thought. He could have shot your father during his retreat, even while the man was already in the hallway.

_But no._ Placing his back against the now closed door, he let out a laughter that was as unpleasant as it was painful. _Yeah, your old man._ To think he thought he could have stood a chance. Well, it figured most dads were bad dads. _Who would have thought, huh?_ Then again, was your dad so bad for coming here to tell him to stay away?

Arthur chuckled. The blood that had been streaming from his nose gurgled between his lips. It was admirable in a way, how your father had confronted him. He had stood up for you and isn't that what a dad is supposed to do? Arthur knew his own father sure as hell had never stood up for him. So in that regard, your father had done a good thing.

_So he thought Arthur was too old, had used you, possibly blackmailed you, was a threat to you?_ Heroic of him to assume.

His hand slipped down his waistcoat and he frowned when he felt wetness on his fingertips. And indeed, when he lifted his hand he saw the red trail on it. _That wasn't a good sign_. He needed for his clothes to remain crisp clean. Dry cleaning them, or worse, wasn't something he could afford right now. Quickly, he hurried to his bathroom to use the mirror to check his injuries. The first thing he noticed as he entered the bathroom was the damage visible on his face. With a sense of relief he noticed that although his nose was still bleeding, there was no real cut and there'd be no scar. _Good_. He would have hated it to appear on screen with a scab ruining his features. Perhaps the spot would bruise, but he could always apply a little extra make-up. After all, he was used to it during his performing days as a clown. _Nothing worked away the green and blue spots like clown make-up._

He checked the blood damage on his clothes and grunted. His waistcoat was stained. And even though his blood was red and so was his coat, it would not do for a show performance.

Annoyed by the way his waistcoat had been ruined for the show, he pulled it off and rummaged through his belongings. He needed to look smart. With or without you- _no, don’t even go there_, he chided himself. He needed you like he needed air.

_Did you really hate him? Did you really not love him like you had said?_

Thoughts of despair filled his huddled mind and his eyes slid to his gun. He could do it, he could use it. After all, what use was he? Your dad had said it quite clearly, it was better for you and your kid if he was out of your lives. And without you, he dreaded to live. But then his fingers caught on something soft and familiar, and he pulled out the yellow waistcoat he had worn as Carnival the Clown.

Studying the yellow material, he frowned.

He wasn’t like that, was he? A man who gave in and gave up simply because life wasn’t fair? Just a moment ago he had everything to live for. Who said it was all gone? Yeah, except your dad?

Determination filled his eyes, darkening them as his pupils grew. He placed his yellow waistcoat on a nearby chair and started cleaning up his face, washing the blood away from his nose.

“I won’t stay away,” he muttered as he cleansed his face with a wet cloth. Your name escaped his lips as a low and raw murmur. “I can’t and I shan’t. They can’t take you from me. I won’t let them.”

And then he smiled, with the bloodied cloth pressed against his hollow cheek.

“Oh yeah,” his words came out as a whisper. “This has got to end. Now”

\-- ** --

~Bonus~

\-- ** --

Wednesday had come and gone. Arthur had watched you arrive at his flat for work at Sophie’s while he had sat behind his window, smoking a cigarette. He had noticed the red dot of your umbrella, the quick pace with which you hurried into the flat. He didn’t bother going over to the door to peep through the hole as you entered the hallway. Your father was with you, approaching you would be of no use and he knew your old man would just block his peep hole anyway. He had learned that when your father had picked you up yesterday after work.

Instead, he sat staring out of the window down at the now empty street. His hand lazily stroking up and down his hardened shaft, which was still tucked in his trousers. _Yes,_ this was a matter that needed to be thought about. It could not be hurried, nor could he be too hasty. He would grant your parents the illusion of safety. After all, it was just a matter of time. As was everything in this world.

As he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, he imagined what it would be like. Life with you. How he would see your belly swell. When would he feel the first movements of your child?

Ah, now_ that_ brought a smile to his face. His fingers kept stroking his cock languidly, while his other hand moved away from his lips as he blew out some fresh smoke. Would you miss him like he missed you, he wondered?

He glanced from the corners of his eyes at his notebook which lay on the table next to him. It contained his notes and pictures of scantly dressed young women, but it also contained some of the darker fantasies he had for you. What would you think if you ever came across it and read it?

A smile twisted his face as he blew out again._ You’d ride him for sure. Yes._

His grip tightened, his hand now a fist around his shaft, he started pumping up and down. The cigarette between the fingers of his other hand started dangling as he slouched lower in the chair. His head lolled forward and his jaw slackened as he sped up the pace. To think of your tight cunt, your sweet lips, your wet core, your walls milking him for his seed.

He came with a gasp but as his eyes flew open wide, he could not help but think that helping himself wasn’t even coming close to the real deal. He missed you. The situation was unbearable, he thought, and things had gone on for far too long.

With renewed vigour, he took a deep drag from his cigarette. His white splattered hand slipped out of his pants. He needed you. And he sure as hell was going to have you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Health-wise I have been struggling since the end of last year. And now I am ill again. Three days of high fever, dry cough, pain on my chest, it could be corona, but we're not being tested. I am short-breathed at the moment and very tired. I could only finish this chapter and upload it due to my dear mother-in-law coming over to look after my toddler son (who is unfortunately also ill and cries all of the time because of his sore throat and chest). (When we called the doctor for my son last night cos he wouldn't stop crying they told us to take him for a walk outside. Riiiiiight, that will help him eat and drink??? I'm sorry, I am mad about that conversation). But hey, the doctor's advice is to stay at home, be calm, and heal. Which we try. Fingers crossed it won't get worse. I am already feeling at my limits.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You haven't seen Arthur since your parents found out. Has he forgotten about you? Or is he truly able to keep away from you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me begin with a note with some personal details about the delay in my updates. Some might have noticed I added a line to my story's main summary to apologise for not knowing when the next update will be. 
> 
> My last update for chapter 7 was when I had fallen ill with Corona symptoms. I have wanted to continue writing on this fic ever since, want to finish this so I can work out other ideas, but unfortunately, I am still extremely tired. Up to the point where people in my country think I must be living abroad for going to bed at half past 6. Unfortunately, although I have tried on multiple occassions, I could not get many words on paper (or digitally in this case). Writing chapter 8 took me about a week in days, I suppose, and might not be up to level with previous chapters. But I am just very happy to let you know that although I am not doing fine, I am still alive and determined to continue and finish this fic. Attentive readers among you might have noticed that I changed the estimated 11 chapters to 12. So yes, I finally written down an outline for the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> I am sad because I can't tell you when the next chapter will be on. But I am happy that I have finally (after what.. like... 90 days or something?) uploaded a new chapter. And I won't drop the pen. If no new chapter ever arrives, it's not because I didn't want to. Because I am determined to finish this fanfic.

**Before** **  
  
\--**

Sophie watched the man as he slowly rose up from her couch. His hunched shoulders, his harshly set expression. What _the hell_ did he think he was doing here?

She waited until Arthur’s frame had disappeared down the hall, watched as he closed his own apartment’s door before she closed her own. With her heart beating wildly in her chest, she leaned her head against the doorframe and closed her eyes, willing the dull ache in her head to go away. Her ears hurt with the pounding of her own heartbeat, the trepidation she had felt upon entering her living room to find her strange neighbour there, seated on the couch that she had sat on only moments before when she helped change Gigi into her pyjamas. Yet the loud pounding of her blood didn’t block out the sound of his painful howling laughter coming from down the hall. Even with their doors closed, she could hear him. Faint, but present. Undeniable. _Like him._

To think, in that short time it had took her to guide Gigi to her room and put her to bed, he had come in. How? Her eyes travelled to her lock. Had she left the door ajar? But no, she reminded herself. Gigi had told her of Arthur entering the apartment before. And when she had found him in the kitchen with you…. had you lied out of fear when you told her that you had let him in?

She looked around, her eyes falling on the key she hadn’t seen before and her heart actually stopped. _There it was_. A key which was neatly situated on the little cabinet in her hallway. As if someone had placed it there for her to find.

With a feeling of dread she picked it up, turned it around in front of her eyes, and studied the cursed little object. When she had seen enough and her eyes fell closed, and an involuntary sigh escaped her lips, she knew that this had been his secret tool.

He had used it. But how long had he been having it, Sophie wondered? And how had he gotten a copy of her apartment’s key in the first place?

She reached for the object, still leaning against the door when her fingers grazed the cold metal of the key. Why had he left it in her house? Had it been an accident? But then again, it looked positioned, like it had been placed there for her to find. What was Arthur Fleck up to?

With her fingers curled around the duplicate key, she pushed herself away from the door.

Thoughts raced through her head. How many times had he used this key before?_ By God_, this _wasn’t _the first. What had she done? The sudden feeling of guilt gripped her when she realised that he must have made this move several times before. How her nanny, a young girl fresh out of school, had been delivered to his mercy. How he must have crept upon you, must have scared you. How her safe haven had been anything but safe for you.

A sob escaped her lips. “Good God,” Sophie felt how her hands trembled. How the key’s weight felt heavier than anything she had ever held before. _She hadn’t known! How could she have known?_ But then why did she feel responsible? Why did it hurt so much to know that Arthur must have pulled this trick before?_ It’s because he scared me senseless,_ Sophie thought as she tried to calm herself, _I was so terribly frightened. If that’s how I felt, how must you have felt? I’m so sorry._

Arthur’s sudden appearance had left a bad feeling in her gut. The way he had sat there, had wandered into her apartment with his own key, the way he had pointed his fingers at his own head like a gun. What the heck was up with that? Was he going to commit suicide? Should she call the cops? Should she call your house? Were you in danger? Were you-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud call from her daughter. Right, she was still in the process of putting Gigi to bed. She wanted her doll, it had been on the couch, right? A quick glance told her that it was there no longer.

Quickly setting her fears aside, Sophie focused on finding her daughter’s doll, rumbling around her own apartment until she had it.

Calling you would have to wait. She needed time to think and consider what would be the wisest move to make first. She would inform the police about Arthur’s appearance into her apartment and the gesture he had made. Glancing at the clock she saw the time. _Too late now,_ she thought dejectedly. She would have to do so tomorrow. By the muffled sound of Arthur’s laughter she could only conclude he hadn’t left his apartment yet. For now, you’d be safe.

And with the doll in her hand, she went back to Gigi.

\--

**Chapter 8**

\-- 

One day without him. One meagre day, and your body couldn’t take it. You cursed yourself as you lay down on the sheets, your core tingling.

What had Arthur Fleck managed to do to you these past few weeks? How had he grown on you this quickly that he managed to occupy your thoughts every waking moment?

You glanced at the clock on your wall. Wednesday evening. Time for bed. No new message on your pillow, no attempt from Arthur to catch you in the hallway. Nothing. It should have been a relief.

And yet it tingled in your core. Was this going to be your future from now on? A constant throbbing down your neither region which reminded you that he used to be inside there? That he had possessed your body on a daily base? That you craved his touch once more?

Slowly, you moved your hand underneath the blankets, and slipped it into your panties. This could be over fairly quick, right?

You brushed one finger past your slit, letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your own touch. How hot your core was, how needy. You dipped your finger lower, gently pushing the tip into your cunt. And _oh!_ There it was inside your mind’s eye. The ghost image of Arthur Fleck bending over you. His lips pressed in a thin yet determined line as he flexed his hand and moved his fingers inside of you. How wet your entrance was. But how different to his cock your fingers were. Or even to his own hands. Not the same roughness, not the same need. You grunted and tried to subdue a moan. _This just wasn’t fair._

You thrust your finger in and out, making sure to brush your hand past your clit at each movement. It was good, but not good enough. And so you let your free hand wander up your chest, to squeeze your own breasts. Biting your lip and suppressing another groan, you annoyedly pulled your top away, baring your breasts to the air. Your nipples peaked instantly, being over the covers, while your legs were underneath. You pinched your nipples between finger and thumb and _God_, that was much better. You grew less careful, squeezing and grabbing your own breasts with a ferocity you didn’t know you had or could stand. They had grown bigger, more sensitive. Hormones and such, you knew, but feeling them up in this state was absolutely erotic. Kneading your own breasts while your other hand was between your legs, rapidly moving up and down, your finger sliding in and out of your wet slick core. Your lips parted in rapid breathing. You tried to be quiet, _dammit, you did._ But this felt so good. You felt like you were nearing your peak.

With your eyes squeezed shut, images started to play. Arthur’s head between your legs, his tongue lapping at your core. It excited you more and so you kept inviting the fantasies in. Him leaning over you, holding his weight with his elbows as he pounded deep inside of you. The way he would take you hard and deep, putting painful pressure on your cervix that would take you over the edge, the way he’d fill you up and groan and throw his head back and-

You came down from your high with fantasies of Arthur’s exposed neck as he throws his head backwards in the throes of passion. The image lingered in front of your eyes a moment longer. _He had ruined you, this man had._

As Arthur slowly faded and your own chamber walls came back into view, you felt ashamed of yourself. Even if you felt oddly satisfied, the urgent need that you had felt earlier now gone. It somehow felt wrong to pleasure yourself over Arthur Fleck.

You quickly wiped your wet fingers on a tissue while you tried to calm your mind. It was okay, you told yourself, it was just human behaviour. The scent of your own slick somehow still seemed to linger on your fingers, so you decided to get up and made use of the bathroom, making sure to wash your hands for an extended amount of time.

As you looked into the mirror you mused about the day. Wednesday had passed by at an accelerated pace. With your father keeping a close eye on you as he brought you to Sophie’s door and then picked you up again. Sophie had promised to let you out on Thursday and Friday so your father didn’t have to skip more hours of work for you. It was an arrangement she had made with your parents. An arrangement that made you feel like you were a small child again, rather than a grown up woman.

_And yes,_ you definitely were a woman now. No denying it. _Arthur Fleck had made sure of that._ Your hand subconsciously ran over your tummy, knowing of the life that was growing inside of you. And despite the confusion you felt at the entire situation, and the relief of not having to face him again up front, you somehow missed the man.

_How had he done that? _

You had dreaded another message on your pillow Tuesday night, after your father had picked you up and walked you home from work – well, _escorted you_, really. He had told you that he had confronted Arthur. It had seemed like one of the scariest things ever to you, but your father had assured you that he had made his warning clear and that all had gone well.

You had heard your father’s raised voice when you lay in bed that night, how he raged about Arthur against your mother. Old. Worthless. Defect. Creep.

You had tried to ignore his voice as you fell asleep. Yet somehow you dreamt of Arthur’s apartment that night, and of the pornographic issues your father mentioned to your mother that had been lying on the table.

You’d woken up with dread in your stomach. But after a light meal, a bit of a throw up, and a proper escort of your father through rainy Gotham to Sophie’s house, you had felt safer. Arthur hadn’t come out of his apartment. During the day it had been like nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened in that building at all. 

And when you had come home there was no dreaded note. Nor any sign of him entering. You knew that your mother had taken some precautions. And the bins outside had been dragged to a different spot so no one could climb up to your room without having to place something underneath it. Which not only would make sound, but should be noticed by others in the neighbourhood.

Still, you thought, he could have visited your home while all of you were at work during the day. But there was no sign that you had found. And still, you thought, he could have hurt your father. But he hadn’t. How was he doing without you now, you wondered? Did he miss you? He had given you the impression of not being able to live a single day without you. How was he managing? Was he doing fine?

_Such an odd thing,_ you mused as you fell asleep, _for you to worry about the man who did all this to you_. But as sleep claimed you and another dream of Arthur’s apartment started playing inside your head, you knew that despite everything that had happened, you missed him. And you weren’t sure whether you could hate yourself for that or not.

\--

Thursday arrived with another bout of rain. But as the time to head to work arrived, the sky overhead brightened just a little. It was enough to ensure a dry trip to Sophie’s apartment. As you put on your shoes and grabbed your bag, you smiled at your father who was donning his coat before he kissed your mother goodbye.

“It’ll be a short day today, don’t worry, dear,” he told you with a faint smile as he caught up with you at the door. “You'll be out of there before you know it. Sophie will walk with you and make sure you’ll safely leave the flat.” But upon seeing the worry in your eyes he stepped closer to you. He gently placed his hand under your chin, his fingers warm against your skin as he gently urged you to lock eyes with him.

“Hey, are you all right?” You couldn’t hide anything from him, could you?

“Yes,” you sounded distracted, your words clearly being a lie. “Yes, I will manage today. Thank you.”

Your father tried to give you a reassuring smile, but somehow his smile felt as genuine as your words had been. Void of meaning, just there in an attempt to make the other feel better. Because you felt anxious. You wouldn’t be working a full day today, just half a day really. Normally, you’d tell your parents your working hours were till five, leave Sophie’s house, allow Arthur to spend some time with you until it was about five, then head home. But this wasn’t the normal of the past few weeks. This wasn’t the normal of the past few months even. This was the normal it should have been all along. With you being _honest_ to your parents and with you leaving Sophie’s building at the time you actually finished your job.

But would Arthur let you go like that? Would he truly be able to ignore your presence in the building? Somehow you had a hard time believing that. You had even tried to reason with your parents at breakfast to please call the police and involve them, suddenly afraid for what would happen if you came face to face with the man who haunted your dreams. You’d been so afraid to step to the police yourself, afraid for what he might do and afraid for how the police would treat the case, but now that you found strength in your parents’ support you realised that together you could do this. Of course, it figured they were loath to call for the police’s help for the same reasons you had been. Corruption. Cases like this were too often being put aside as trivial. Victims like you weren't scarcely found. They were just hardly being taken serious. _If there wasn’t much money paid, any case was trivial to the police,_ your father liked to remind you. _This is Gotham after all. Until Mr Fleck actually has made a threat on our doorstep, or becomes physical, the police will just place this case aside on their pile of papers and not look at it until it’s too late,_ your father had said. And somehow, you feared he was right.

You forced a smile, mirroring his. “I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying to push the fear and all other emotions you felt away. “If it wasn’t for me there wouldn’t have been this mess. Now you’re missing valuable hours at work. And we desperately need the money. I just, I feel guilty for you having to clock in late and leave early just to walk me to my job.” You wanted to add ‘like some kid going to school for the very first time,’ but your tongue felt like rubber.

Instead of scolding you or glowering at you, as he might have done in the past when you had cost him an hour of working time and salary, your father placed his arm around your shoulder and pulled you in for a gentle hug. “Hey, it’s all right dear. That’s what a dad does. You didn’t think I would let you down now that you need me the most?” Now _those_ words magicked a smile on your face.

“A few more days on dry bread and plain water then?” You said as you smiled up at him, attempting to lift both your spirits.

Now it was your father’s turn to laugh. “Make it dry bread with butter,” he replied with a chuckle whilst he opened the door for you. After a quick wave of goodbye to your mother, you left the apartment with your father following close behind.

“We’re in luck though,” he said as he closed the door behind him. The two of you wandered down the hallway and went down the stairs while he continued. “My boss has shown a hint of humanity. He allows me to compensate the hours I have missed by working overtime. So expect me home late tonight.”

“Oh, that’s good news,” you manage with a smile. Though you still felt guilty for your father having to work till late on your account.

The two of you reached the bottom of the stairs and you opened the door for him.

“Don’t worry about being on your own. Your mother has arranged to be at home early so she can be here when you get home. You know her missing hours is slightly less tricky.” You listened to your father while you walked side by side. Your mother earned about half as he did, so in a way it was less of a disaster if she had to miss out. But still….

“I’m a grown up woman, dad," you started your complain. Your hand travelling subconsciously towards your tummy. If only you could already feel the life inside.

Your father glanced at you but made no comment. And your mind was reeling. What were you going to do? You couldn’t keep working for Sophie if it meant your parents had to work less or work after hours to make sure there would be bread on the shelves. You needed a new employer, a new place where you wouldn’t risk bumping into Arthur. And you also needed a salary raise if you wanted to provide enough money to feed your child. But who would take on a pregnant young woman?

You sighed and looked at your shoes. Little droplets of rain from pools that you passed on the street had gathered at the top of them. You wondered if everything was as bleak as the weather today? Your future? That of your unborn child? When would the rain be replaced by the sun again?

After making it to Sophie’s place safely, and still not noticing a sign of Arthur’s presence other than the faint whiff of cigarette smell lingering in the hallway, you said your father goodbye. Sophie offered you a schedule with things that needed to be done and a few suggestions of games to play with Gigi, then left as well. You felt anxious, being alone with Gigi in this apartment, so close to Arthur’s home. But like the days before, he didn’t show up. You expected him to knock at any moment, or to suddenly stand inside the apartment. It was why you decided to do most things in the living room today, just so you could keep an eye on the door. But he never appeared. Jennifer would be there again tomorrow, you reminded yourself. Those two girls would surely be able to occupy your mind. You just needed to survive today with Gigi alone. You could do this.

It was nearly an hour before your working day ended when Gigi complained about the trash can spilling over.

“Now, why did you put all those tissues in there?” You yelped when you saw the mess she had made while you’d been cleaning the table after lunch.

“I wanted to help you,” Gigi pouted, and really, it was hard to remain mad at her when she looked at you in that way. You realised she had been trying to help you clean up, but instead of a wet towel she had used a whole roll of tissues. _Dear God, how would Sophie react to that?_ Unfortunately, her action had left the bin overfull, and smell of waste that lay at the bottom kept constantly hitting your nose. The smell was awful enough to make you gag, your current state not welcoming the foul scent at all. So you tried to close the lid with all your might, and when pushing and hitting it didn’t work, you tried sitting on top lid with your full weight.

No result.

After a desperate run for the toilet, and reaching it just in time, you decided that this wouldn’t do and there would be no other solution but to get rid of the smelly garbage bag. So after you had calmed down and your stomach was less upset, you went into the kitchen again, nose pinched, and dragged the bag from the bin before tying it.

Only then did you take a deep breath again.

Gigi chuckled, finding it all very amusing. You, however, were not as amused. Even with the bag expertly closed, you still kept smelling faint hints of the foul odour, which in turn made you nearly gag again. So there was no other solution. The bag had to go.

The moment you made your way to the front door, bag in hand, Gigi started to panic and rushed to stand in front of your feet, blocking your way effectively.

You raised a brow.

“I’m just putting this around the corner,” you explained patiently, but Gigi shook her head fiercely.

“You know mommy doesn’t want you to leave the house.”

_Ah._ Clever of Sophie. But to be honest, you had no intention of risking seeing _him_ again. You would not set a foot outside of this door. “And I won’t. I’ll just put it in the hallway.”

Gigi looked at you pensively and you sighed. That bag was feeling heavier with every single moment. “I won’t set a foot outside of this apartment. Just my arm as I put it around the corner next to our front door. I’ll take it to the bag outside when I’ve finished work.”

Satisfied with your answer, Gigi stepped aside and let you pass. You waited before opening the door to look at her. But she had already darted back into the living room. _Kids._ You placed the bag on the floor in front of your feet, then used both hands to open the front door. With another sigh you dumped the bag around the corner, as you had promised, with your nose and eyes scrunched – damn that foul stench! You were glad to be rid of it.

As you started to close the door, you noticed a little note left in front of the apartment. A piece of paper in the middle of the hallway. And you hesitated.

It was just a tiny slip of paper that appeared to have been crumbled before, but had been neatly stroked flat. It was right in front of Sophie’s apartment, in the middle of your view, clearly left there to be found.

Instantly, your hands started to tremble and you felt your nerves playing up. _What is this? _After having mustered your courage you bent forward and carefully picked up the note. As you read it, the words escaped your lips like a whisper: “We can’t meet. I miss you.”

Longing, you felt it, layered thickly within the letters of the note. His typical handwriting with his typical mistakes. The sad smiley face between the two sentences. But inside your mind you heard his voice, low and raspy and full of need. You could even smell his cigarette breath as it rolled past your neck, caressed your skin.

_NO_.

You turned around and slammed the door shut. Your heart beating wildly inside of your chest. _What the heck? _So he hadn’t forgotten you yet. Was his intention to conversate through notes now? What should you do?

Then you heard Gigi call your name. “Is everything all right?” She came running towards you, hurrying as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, worry edged on her youthful face. “I’m here to protect you!” She loudly exclaimed, and you hoped that, as she came to a halt, she hadn’t noticed the way you had crumpled the paper and quickly hidden it inside your pocket.

“Was it the bad man again?” You nearly flinched at the innocent tone of Gigi’s voice, the way she blinked at you and titled her head ever so slightly.

“No, no,” you quickly said. “He wasn’t there. I was just…scared that he might be. And I didn’t want to have this door opened any longer than it need be, right?” You playfully knocked your knuckles against the wood of the door.

Your words seemed to have the right effect.

“Well, you need not be scared any longer! Here’s your knight.” Gigi struck a pose which was a little unbalanced, but very imaginatively improvised. “Mommy says I can be a knight in shining armour. So I will be!” Gigi deftly proclaimed, and you could not help but laugh.

“Thank you, Gigi,” you said, somewhat composing yourself. You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing it, and then pushed yourself away from the door.

“I could use a knight in shining armour,” you joked.

The remaining time was filled with laughter and silly games. When Sophie returned, you donned your coat, grabbed your bag, and waited for Sophie to help Gigi put on her coat in order to let you out.

When you opened the door to head home, the garbage bag had gone. An eerie feeling travelled through you and you cast a quick glance at Arthur’s door. But as expected, it was closed. You knew Sophie caught your gaze, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she held Gigi by the hand while she closed her apartment door. Then she guided you to the elevator. _Like a small child,_ you thought annoyed. But then, as you glimpsed down, you saw Gigi smiling up at you and wondered whether that was such a bad thing after all.

A ding sounded and the elevator doors popped open. Two men stepped out. You nearly stumbled over the smaller man as you were already taking a step forward to enter the empty elevator cabin.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” _How embarrassing!_ You knew your cheeks must be bright red. How could you have missed the smaller man? You wish the ground could swallow you up.

“No worries, love,” the smaller man replied. You felt a little better at seeing his kind smile. With a giggle, Gigi turned around by your side while Sophie punched the ground floor button, and slowly the doors closed. As they did, you noticed how the tall man and the smaller one halted in front of Arthur’s door. _Huh? You’d never seen him have any friends over._

You looked at Sophie to see if she had noticed at well, but she was bending forward towards Gigi, whispering something at her about a doll she was still carrying. And so you decided to drop it.

Sophie and Gigi escorted you down the street. There you turned to thank her and tell her that you’d make it home safe. She smiled at you and waved goodbye. In your excitement you had forgotten to tell Sophie about the note. _Oh well_, you thought as you watched Sophie and Gigi’s backs grow smaller and smaller in the distance as they walked back to the flat, _you’d have to tell your parents instead_. As you hurried home, the note tightly clutched in your pocket, you thought you could hear him. _Arthur_. Up high above your head, you heard his dull yet painful characteristic laugh. For a moment it made you falter in your step, but then you decided to hurry and get away as swiftly as you could.

You nearly ran now, and only slowed your pace once you had reached your home. You smiled when you found your mother was already inside, having come home from work early so you wouldn’t be alone. Your bedroom looked as always, the bins were still far away and nothing stood underneath your window. He hadn’t come here. Perhaps you were safe.

**\-- ** --**

_~Bonus~_

**\-- ** --**

Tonight was the night. He felt it deep within his bones. That delicious churning of anticipation in his gut, that thrilling sensation in his core.

For most of his life, things had been out of his control. Everything just happened. People played him. And he had allowed himself to be played. But now that he finally had held some form of control, that he had found someone worth living for, he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

Arthur had been eyeing his gun for the past few hours. He had held the tiny, heavy object in his hands tenderly in the midst of the night, had contemplated its weight and the things he could do with it.

And then, this morning, when he had finally been able to put it aside for another cigarette, he had sat down to write you a note.

With his mind made up, he slowly started dressing for tonight’s occasion. His red suit, the one he had worn to his mother’s funeral, was already hanging over a chair. Such a pity that his waistcoat had been smudged with his blood yesterday and that he had no money nor time to rinse it properly. He didn’t want to go out there on television, in front of a live audience even, dressed in his own blood. The yellow waistcoat he had used for Carnival would have to do.

As he freshened up at the sink, he looked up at the mirror and noticed the purple and green bruise around his nose. He froze in his movements. Did it really look that bad? He paused his ablutions to study the spot closer. _Heck,_ it was _too_ noticeable.

With a groan he gritted his teeth and studied the ugly mark on his face while he silently cursed your father. A gentle prod of his fingers against the sore spot made him flinch, another soft rub past the hurt flesh made him grit his teeth even tighter. That’s when his eye fell upon the nearly forgotten clown make-up he had left lingering on the edge of the sink.

_Well, he had been a clown for most of his life._ And the make-up had always saved him so far.

With a small suppressed chuckle of painful laughter, he sat down to cover his face in white paint. His thoughts were whirling inside of his head. It seemed as if the clown image was somehow stuck to him. With how Wayne had called him a clown on television, well, why not? And with Murray calling him a Joker.

He sat back and lit another cigarette.

That’s when the faint whizzing of the doorbell sounded.

He needed to think about the steps he would take, although he had been thinking for the past few days. At first his focus had been solely on his dream of appearing on the Franklin show. which was finally coming true. Of course this little miracle was heavily overshadowed by the despair of possibly losing the woman he loved and the child she carried with her. The ideal mother and child. 

Another buzz. Oh,_ he really could not deal with this shit today._

_You._ You were imbedded in his mind. You and your child. The child of the two of you together. Arthur could think of so may ways to address that child. Yours. His. Ours. An Angel. A Gift. A reward sent from heaven.

_Bam. Slash._

But no matter what would happen or how this evening would end, he was going to do his damn best to get you back in his arms. He had no back up plan. Not with Sophie prowling all the time and with your parents knowing his address. So he would have to run. Go elsewhere. Take you with him. But where?

His laughter died down. Arthur pushed himself up from the floor, and slowly opened the door to let his ex-colleague out. _Where was he? Oh yes, the grand escape to an idyllic countryside with a little house, a little tree and a nice cradle for your newborn._ With a sigh he closed the door.

Knowing that he was running out of time, he quickly stashed the few notes of money he had lingering through the apartment inside the waistband of his pants. After his yellow waistcoat was donned, his cigarettes and make-up pocketed, he cast one final glance at his mother’s apartment and then stepped outside.

No matter who had called the cops on him, this evening was going to be his prime time. This evening was going to decide the rest of his fate. 

And _yours._


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's evening, and some dire news reaches you. Can you get out in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you for sticking with me. 
> 
> As mentioned before, I WAS feeling unwell. But that is in the past so celebrate with me! Currently I am recovering from giving birth :) So another yippie, I am feeling so much better (first Corona, then the pregnancy that had me all ill and sick and well, I am so happy I am feeling a lot better now). 
> 
> I gave birth to a son 2nd of November (C-section, so I got help, sorta), and was inspired again to write afterwards by watching Enola Holmes on Netflix. You might see me update a crappy little multi-chapter fic with angst and weird banter in that fandom (I mean, Burn Gorman is a special kind of hot and no one had written any Linthorn drama so I took it upon myself, with lots of Enola and Sherlock trying to raise a kid in it because I like to draw from real life experience). I haven't forgotten this fic though. 
> 
> I will be continuing and hopefully finishing this one in the upcoming few months. I did put "The Princess and the Clown" on a hold for now, as I need to recover, get back into writing, and expect to be getting back to work this upcoming week. I did not forget you all! ;D

**Before**

\--

The television switched to static, but Sophie’s greatest fears had been confirmed. After bringing Gigi to bed and encountering her crazed neighbour, whom she thought had ended up in the wrong apartment, she had assumed all would be well. He had returned the spare key to her – a key she had never known existed. And the gesture he had made, she had expected some form of suicide act on his behalf at the worst. But not what she had just witnessed on screen.

Her neighbour, Arthur Fleck, killing off the host of a television show.

That could mean little good for those around him. If the cops wouldn’t get him first, then where would he go?

Sophie internally knew the answer to that.

_You._

Whatever was to happen next, you were in danger. And she was one of the few people who could warn you for that.

“No, no, no.” Sophie’s hand slid to the phone but in her haste, slipped off it. She tried to reach for it once more, scrambling to get closer. Her fingers trembled as she dialled your number. “Please pick up, pick up,” she muttered.

There were sounds of thrashing in the hallway and of male voices. Without hesitation she picked up her phone, carrying it as far as the wire would allow. She managed to open her front door with her elbow and her foot, all the while clutching the phone between her shoulder and head while she waited for someone to pick up her call.

As she opened the door, she saw a group of police men standing outside Arthur’s apartment. A trail of blood was seen on the floor. And there, through the opened door of his apartment, she spotted the butchered body of a large man.

Her blood froze.

\--

**Chapter 9**

** **

\--

It was odd how one day without his presence already made you feel like you were capable of relaxing more. Sure, there had been the odd note, but if anything it had been rather sweet. And he had not been to your house, so that was a good sign, right?

Your mother had put you at ease that evening by cooking your favourite meal, fluffing a pillow behind your back so you’d be comfortable, and talking about all the fun little things the baby could bring you – which was a blessing. All your fears of being blamed for the pregnancy or being told how much of a disaster it was to be with child seemed ungrounded. Your mind had already made up loads of different worst case scenarios but they seemed to remain just that: scenarios. Not reality. It was as if your mother knew the dark thoughts that had been swirling inside your head and tried to coax you out of that state of mind.

_Think of the little shoes, we can knit socks, and what about the baby’s first smile, the first steps?_ Gradually you were starting to forget your fears for having to give birth at some point. As cliché as it sounded, you liked the fact that your parents seemed to have your back. From the fears of being completely alone and misunderstood in this, you now felt stronger than you ever could have imagined before. You were supported, you were told not to worry, you were shown the good sides and your mother and father did love you enough to help you through this.

So when your father returned home later that night, you were on the couch talking to your mother. The two of you had already finished eating and had left a good portion for your father, who commented as he entered the apartment. “What is that heavenly smell?”

You had to chuckle upon his dramatics and replied with your favourite dish, which brought a smile to his face. He was trying, you knew that. Normally he didn’t even like that dish that much, but he was doing this for you.

“Right,” you answered sarcastically. “Well, do sit down and eat before I decide to empty your plate for you. I’ve got to eat for two after all.” The joke fell well, and you watched as your father sat down at the table.

“How was your day?” Your mother asked him, detaching herself from your side to help your father with warming his food before sitting down with him at the table.

“Oh, fine,” your father replied, waving his hand through the air nonchalantly. “Long, tiresome, but all right.” Here he looked up at you and tried to give you one of his reassuring smiles, though you could see how knackered he was. 

“How was yours?” You heard the implied ‘did anything happen?’ though. You smiled back at him. “Fine, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Gigi was a dear, she acted all concerned around me. Oh,” you added as an afterthought, “and she said she wants to help me when the baby’s here. Apparently she sees it as some kind of sister or brother. I tried to explain her that I am just the nanny, but she wouldn’t have it. She wants a sister, apparently. Though a brother would be okay too, as long as she can dress him up.” You rolled your eyes for dramatic effect while your mother suppressed a giggle.

“She’s just enthusiastic, that one. And she’s gotten used to your presence. You’re with her almost every single day of the week. No wonder she’s excited,” your mother said with a smile.

“Well, I am glad you got home early,” your father added, changing the topic somewhat. “It’s been a right mess again. I could hardly get home safely what with all the rioting in the street.”

“That bad again, huh?” You asked from your position lazily on the couch.

Your father nodded before he took a bite from your favourite meal. “That bad,” he muttered, mouth full. You waited for him to swallow whilst your mother hummed something about the government and how they expected the normal people to even live in this city with all the current financial chaos. You nodded to show you concurred – this situation in Gotham was dire. And then your father spoke up again, “I know things don’t look well, but I doubt pillaging and plundering is going to help anyone. It only brings a lot of store employees in a lot of trouble. You know the shop down the street had to close because they couldn’t afford new stock after last week’s plundering? All those boys and girls working there, from one day to the next they suddenly found themselves without a job. And probably without a place to stay, cause they can’t afford any rent now.”

You nodded solemnly, happy somewhere deep inside of your heart that you never got hired there and held the job at Sophie’s instead. “It’s sad,” you said. “I hope it’ll stop soon.”

“Oh, it’ll stop,” your father said, “once Wayne is gone, I reckon. But for now, it’s a horror show out there. Did you know the traffic was chaos? All these people with clown masks in the subway and blocking the roads. I feared they would knock out my teeth when I passed them with those clubs they carry. And God only knows how many of them were actually armed with a gun!”

“I dread to think,” your mother suppressed a shudder and so did you.

“Anyway, in nicer news,” your father quickly said, noticing how the two of you responded to his story. “Peter said he’s on the brink of inventing a anti-stink sole for his shoes. Which would be a blessing!”

That was when the phone rang and interrupted your father’s tale about his long-time colleague with the smelly feet. You thought little of the call as your father picked it up. With a yawn you turned to your mother who was still seated at the table. “If he truly would invent such a thing he could become a millionaire,” you said, stifling another yawn.

“That man has big dreams, but little hope,” your mother replied. She leaned forward across the table to look you in the eyes. “You’re tired, why don’t you go to sleep? It’s not a bad thing to go to bed early. Not after the days you’ve had.”

You wanted to ask whether she meant that you’d been working, or whether she meant all the stuff that had happened in the past weeks between Arthur and you. But you decided not to ask. Instead, you shifted on the couch and ran a hand through your hair. “Perhaps calling it a night early wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” you said. It was hard to keep your eyes open. It was just that you didn’t want to leave your parents’ safety and risk the thoughts and dreams that could come when you would be in your room alone.

Would you dream of him again? Would your body feel hot and flushed at the thought of his hands raking past your skin? His voice whispering in your ear? His grunts as he brought you to completion and peaked himself?

_No._

_Stop thinking such thoughts._ You felt your cheeks grow hot – were they red? Had your mother noticed?  
  
“Just go to bed,” she whispered, “it’s all right. You need all the rest you can get.”

You smiled at her and nodded, then started to push yourself off the couch. When you glanced over at your father to see if you could wish him a good night, you could see his hands tremble as he laid down the phone. A sudden cold dread filled your bones.

You just instantly knew who this was about.

_Arthur._

“He is on the loose,” was all your father needed to say.

_What?_ You felt your eyes grow wide. “Arthur?”

“That was Sophie calling. She said,” your father swallowed harshly. “She said she’d seen her neighbour. He broke into her apartment earlier today, left her a spare key she never knew existed, then went onto the Franklin Murray Show tonight where they made fun of him. He- _Oh God,_ apparently he appeared there as a clown,”

Images shot into your head at a fast pace. Images of conversations you had with him, of his dreams, of being a stand-up comedian, of clowns, the question he had asked when he had broken into your bedroom, the murders on the subway.

“Oh God,” the words escaped your lips without anything to withhold them.

“He went on a rant about the government, then shot Murray live in front of a studio audience. He shot him!” Your father directed that last part to your mother, who sat with eyes wide in fear. “The bastard shot Franklin Murray! And now according to Sophie, police are searching for him. They are at his apartment and found another body there. _Oh God, oh god_.”

“Wait, _wait_,” your mouth suddenly felt dry, your tongue hardly moving as your brain tried to process what you’d just heard. “What do you mean, the police are searching for him? Did he-“ get away, you wanted to ask. But surely that could not have happened. He was there in front of an audience, in a studio. Cops are everywhere, especially with the riots now. They would have gotten him, right? “He _couldn’t _have, right?”

But your father’s fearful eyes told you otherwise. And it was in this moment that you realised you’d never seen fear like that before in them. Not in your father’s, nor in your mother’s eyes. If they had ever been scared, it wasn’t as much as they were frightened now.

This was _bad._

“What do we do?” Your mother voiced your exact same thoughts. Could it truly be? Had Arthur lost it? Had he killed a man? And, so you thought alarmed, had he done so before? Was he the clown from the subway murders? Had he deliberately gone to the Franklin Murray show to start another riot? Would he kill again?

Were you even safe?

That thought made you freeze. Arthur’s voice ghosted in your head, whispering how happy he was that he would become a father. But was he truly? And would it be enough to ensure your life? Or would he be one of those men who murdered their loved ones before they took themselves out?

_No, don’t even think of it!_

“We do the only thing we can do,” you heard your father say, then mention that they would keep you safe no matter the cost. You felt your heart fill with warmth but your bones were still pinned with cold needles of ice. The fear was gripping your heart tightly and you placed a hand on your chest.

“I can’t sleep now,” you muttered, watching how your mother turned towards you.

“No, no, I understand. But rest is important for you and the baby. You can go to bed while your father and I discuss a solution,” she already turned back to your father again and continued in one breath. “We could call the cops and ask them to watch our home. We could do that, couldn’t we?”

Glancing at your bedroom, it felt anything but safe. “He knows where I live,” you started, unsure what the best course of action would be.

“Which is why,” your father resolutely said, “you can’t stay here. Not even now. _Especially_ not now.” He walked over to the phone again and you raised a brow in question. _Where do I go?_ you thought, but you needn’t ask as your father mentioned the names of your aunt and uncle. “She’ll be safe there,” then, over his shoulder towards you, “Go pack your stuff. You’re not staying here. You’re leaving, tonight.”

You carefully took a few steps towards your bedroom door, but knowing that Arthur was out and about, that he had escaped from the police and was on the run after killing a man, sent shivers down your spine. The thought of being on your own even in a room in your own home was too much.

“Mom, he can get in there,” you yelped, feeling the panic rise in your chest. “He has been into my room before. What if he comes for me?”

Your mother looked at you and you saw her hesitate, then she glanced at your father who had already picked up the phone. Decision made, she nodded, “that’s right,” before she joined your side and gently reached for your arm to guide you to your bedroom. “I’ll come with you. We’ll pack your stuff.”

You felt elated that she went with you, the fear of entering your dark chamber and coming eye to eye with Arthur diminished as she flicked on the light and you saw that your room was blessedly empty (apart from the normal bulks of clothes and items stacked).

With a sigh of relief you followed your mother into your room and watched as she got out your largest bag. She started rummaging through your drawers, adding a pile of underwear, your pyjamas, socks. After another glance over your shoulder – _no one at the window, good_\- you quickly joined her side to help her. Within minutes you had gathered an essential amount of clothes and your favourite things. It barely fit within one bag, so you decided to add a second, smaller one.

You watched as your mother left your side, but left the door widely ajar so you could see straight into the living room, to command your father to call a cab. For a moment you feared that, now that she had left your bedroom and you were on your own, Arthur would suddenly pop up behind you, like a Jack-in-the-box. “_Hello sweetheart,”_ that sort of thing, where he would grab you by the waist and spin you around to face him. _They’re always behind you_, you thought. _In horror films, they are always behind their victim, even when said victim has checked every crook and corner_. But luckily, no one crept up behind you. And within a few more minutes you had hoisted your bags from your bed and rushed out of your bedroom to join your parents in the living room.

“No matter the cost,” you heard your mother say to your father, and then she turned back to you, “we need to get you out of here, away. Your aunt and uncle’s home should be safe, at least until the matters have settled and they have caught him. Now come along.” She guided you to the window of the apartment, overlooking the street below. “Is it here yet?” She muttered, her eyes obviously roving the street in search of the ordered cab.

You brought your hand to your lips and nervously bit on your thumb. Standing in front of the window, in full view, made you feel oddly vulnerable. The fright of seeing Arthur appear from around one of the many street corners was overpowering and you felt tears form in the corners of your eyes. _What kind of a fucking nightmare was this_?

“It’s on its way,” you heard your father say. “Now, listen,” you could see your father’s reflection in the window as he stepped up behind you, then reached for your arms and spun you around to face him. He pulled you into a tight hug. “Everything’s going to be fine, okay?” You felt his hand run through your hair in a comforting gesture and suddenly felt like you were a little kid again. But you needed this, needed this comfort and the feeling of safety. “He will not know where we’ve taken you. You should be safe. I’ve already gave them a ring and they are expecting you.”

“Won’t you be coming along?’ You asked. You felt your bottom lip tremble. _What the heck?_  
  
“I think it’s best if I stayed here with your mom. Together we can alert the police. And if he shows up, I’d rather she not be on her own. Let him think everything’s normal, perhaps they can catch that bastard then,” you could see the lines of doubt crinkling his face but decided not to question his plan. Perhaps it would work, and if it did, you’d be free of him and you could return home.

“All right,” you whispered. You remained in his embrace for several minutes after, sighing happily when your mother wrapped her arms around you too. Eventually you felt her retreat and you intsantly regretted the loss of her touch. For a moment, you had felt safe within their cocoon. But now, reality hit you again. You heard your mother’s warning ‘_the cab’s here_’ and instantly felt the adrenaline return to your body.

This was it, your _grand escape_. Fleeing like a coward. _Well, rather flee than be caught and be dead_, you thought bitterly.

You hastened down the stairs with your bags in tow and watched how your father held the cab outside. Your parents were looking around for a sign of Arthur, but found none, and they gestured for you to rush over to the car. You did so with a sprint, dashing from the building to the car like your life depended upon it – _and perhaps it did_? Once inside the cab, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw an unfamiliar face look back at you via the rear mirror. _It wasn’t him, thank God_.

You heard your father’s voice, “you know where to go,” and saw how he handed the chauffeur a note with the address on it.

“Sure, received your instructions by phone,” the stranger said, then waited for your parents to give you a final kiss and cuddle in the back.

“Be strong,” your mother whispered in your ear. “You’ll be back once this is over. That’ll be before you know it.”

You smiled at her, a tearful smile of hope. “I wish it to be so,” but she already nodded and gently wiped a tear from your cheek. “I know so,” she said, and her voice filled with warmth seemed to echo inside of your mind. _Yes, she must be right_.

Then your father leaned forward for a tight hug. “Try not to worry too much, the baby needs a happy mom,” he whispered. You nodded and returned his hug, then let go when you felt him draw away. “And don’t worry about everything. We have it covered and will keep you up to date.” He finished by telling you to say hi to your aunt and uncle and ask them once you got there if your uncle still had that same eating habit he used to have. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at this and nodded.

“I will,” and with that promise, your father closed the door of the cab so it could drive away. Once the car was in motion, you saw your parents wave at you and blowing kisses. You returned the gesture, but very shortly, then sighed once they were out of view.

The feeling of safety seemed to ebb away from you now that your parents were out of sight. But looking over at the chauffeur and seeing how relaxed the man seemed to be, you quickly tried to relax your own muscles.

You were there, in a cab, driving._ You had made it_. No Arthur had shown up at your home. Wherever he was – _and surely that must be somewhere dashing from the hands of the police-_ he wasn’t here to get to you. A small smile crept on your lips and you ran a hand through your hair. _You had made it out of his reach. You were safe now!_

**\-- ** --**

_~Bonus~_

**\-- ** --**

“This way,” the young men said while they gesticulated for him to follow them into the narrow alley. Arthur, or rather Joker, wasn’t of mind to follow them though. He had stipulated the course he wanted to go - although he was improvising his route mostly, and he knew it. The only reason he changed his mind was the words one of the young men uttered next, “this is the passage to love, man. Guaranteed you’ll be safe.”

_Love_, well Arthur knew a thing or two about that. His mind had been upon you ever since he shot Murray at the show. His objective wasn’t so much as to get away, as it was to get to you. And if this passage led to love, well… he followed the strangers into the alleyway, then found himself on a different road. One full of windows, red lights, ladies in scantly clad clothes. He ignored them mostly though, as he elbowed his way through the crowd. Some rioters here, but less than on the main road. He followed the young men with their masks as they made their way into what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse, where they shut the door behind them and first caught their breath before they started to laugh.

“Oh, man, we’ve got him. We’ve got the real Joker with us. You’re safe now, man.”

Arthur smiled awkwardly at the man who said that, “Ah, yes, well, I’m happy I made you smile,” he said, wondering what the young men’s deal exactly was. Would they keep him here? Would they hand him over to the police? Or was he free to go-

“Yes, you’re an inspiration. We’ve been looking for someone like you,” one of the young men said – _was he a boy still?,_ “Someone we could follow.”

“Follow?” Arthur asked while he raised a brow. _How did they mean, follow? _“Follow where?”

“Ha-ha, you’re funny,” one of the youngsters said, and Arthur cracked another smile though he didn’t understand the joke. “We want to follow you. In the riots? You know, go against the regime and all that. Get rid of Wayne?”

Now that triggered something inside of Arthur and he couldn’t help but start to guffaw. The laughter came out unbidden and sounded rasped, but through it all he tried to regain his composure. Sputtering when he finally managed some control, he looked at the group of young men – only a handful. Five or _no_\- six, he counted in the warehouse with him. In their twenties? Perhaps a tad younger? Perhaps some a bit older?

“Get rid of Wayne? Me?” His shoulders still trembled with unbidden shocks of laughter but the thought embedded itself deep within his brain. Could he actually do that? Could he overthrow the current politics? Make this world into a better place? Not just for the men in front of him, but for you. _For your child_.

The thought sparked a new light within him and suddenly the goal of getting to you and getting the hell away from Gotham changed into this new idea of a Gotham blossoming. Of a city where the thugs were gone because they were no longer necessary. Because _he _had _changed_ it.

A new chuckle escaped his throat, but this time it was a genuine one of joy. Could he be the messiah these men were looking for?

“Of course,” he said, turning to face the young men. “But before that, there’s something I need from you.”

“What, what is it?” One of the young men asked. He jumped from a seat he’d taken on a stack of crates and stepped closer to Arthur. A _fake_ golden necklace with the name _‘Big G’_ on it swung from left to right with each swaying step he took. “Ask anything.”

“Well,” Arthur started before licking his bloodied lips. His eyes darted from the necklace to the young man’s face. “Big G,” he guessed correctly for the young man’s features brightened upon hearing his own name. “If we want this to work we need a network of young and brave men and women who are willing to help us. We need a safe house, and most importantly,” here he paused for dramatic effect, watching as the group of men all inched closer in anticipation. “I have need of my _pregnant_ girlfriend. We need to get her before the cops take her away.”

“Bloody cops, “ one of the young men said, spitting on the floor as a sign of sympathy.

“Oh God, bro, you’ve a girl and she’s pregnant?” One of the older ones asked. Arthur raised a brow again as he tried to estimate this man’s age. Early thirties? “Sure man, would suck if the cops got to her.”

“Good,” Arthur chuckled, “In that case, count me in.”

Before he knew it he was lifted up by his arms and dragged from one room to another. He only half-heard their plans as the men stood in front of him with a map. A _safehouse here_, a _group of supporters _they knew of _there_. _Who cares? Let them do the hard work_, he thought.

“And guns?”

“Hmm,” Arthur hummed, broken out of his thoughts. “Guns?”

“You need guns?” One of the men asked.

“Sure. Guns,” Arthur mumbled in agreeance. “And explosives.” He added it as an afterthought but it was good enough to brighten the mood among his new followers. The men seemed lit about their plans, and before long, Arthur found himself in a car, a black Mercedes, giving directions towards your home.

They neared your block when they saw a cab pull out of the street. In the dim lights of the street, Arthur managed to recognise your shape behind the dark windows. _Of course, your parents would try and send you away._

“Stop!” He shouted. “That’s her, after her!”

He needn’t say it twice. Big G behind the steering wheel made a sharp turn and within less than a minute, the car was turned in front of the cab, forcing your chauffeur to hit the brakes hard and for you to topple forward.

The cab had hardly come to a halt when Arthur and his new goons jumped out of the black Mercedes and the door to the cab was opened with a rough jerking motion to reveal your frightened face in the streetlight.

Within the blink of an eye, one of the men had yanked open the front door, dragged the chauffeur out and had taken his place. And before you knew it, the cab had taken off with you still inside it. Only this time, _you weren’t alone._

Two wiry arms wrapped strongly around you and the scent of cigarette smoke and something more musky filled your senses. Raw laughter escaped his throat and filled the air, mingling with the sounds of the sirens and of people pillaging.

He held you tightly in his arms.

“Oh sweetheart, now we can be together for _always_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I've been out of writing for months. :) But I do wish to finish this fic. You might see updates from me in the Enola Holmes fandom though, but that doesn't mean I have abandonded this fandom. This fic shall be finished, I vowed it. Only a few more chapters to go! 
> 
> And? Did I surprise you?   
Did you think you could get away? Do you want to? 
> 
> Let me know in the comments :)


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